At 8PM In Our World-Red Writing Hood

The bed shifts as she pulls one knee up to flip around. She never just rolls over, she always flops over. Making the bed shake and the pillows to sail off the side of the bed. She doesn't know how to be small. Although in stature she is very much so. Her feet kick the blankets off and what seems like minutes later she yanks them back up and curls them underneath her. She is a bundle of matchstick arms and legs, only her tangled head of dark hair pokes out above it. She doesn't stay this way for long, for someone so small she ends up taking over the bed, her spiny knees and elbows used like a mercenary, to push her way out. She is all angles, and everything is akimbo. Her feet dig into my lower back and her hands land on my face. She snores and she grinds her teeth. A one little girl army of sleepless nights.

Then she flops over once more. Suddenly she is all softness and she curls up against my back. I can feel her breathing and her fierce little heartbeat. As though there is a cord connecting us, when she is too far away my heart beats irregular, my breathing shallow. When she is against me, a warm beautiful tousled little girl, I am able to breathe easier, calm easier, sleep easier. I sigh and wrap my arms around her knowing that she will not do this forever. Too soon my heart will beat irregularly without her as she ventures out into life without me. But for now we sleep, and snore and grind our teeth. Perfectly content at bedtime, at 8 PM in our world.

What is 8pm in your world?