Sea. Point.

5am. Seapoint, Cape Town.
I wake with a jolt, on my back, and know that I must have been snoring. Self conscious; I'm a guest in a double volume, open plan loft apartment: feeling exposed.
I lie, frozen, for at least 20 hour-long minutes; the rat of my mind fritters, rips, tears away at all my larger-than-life worries.
Anxiously I eventually pluck up the courage to go to bathroom where, in the dark I knock over an electric toothbrush.
In the moment that I move from the toilet to the north-facing window, it, is, the, dawn.
I stand at the moment, at the window, breathing in sea air and moonlight, listening to my happiest sound of them all, especially here: shrieking seagulls.
Three small/bars/through/the/blind/slats /of/moonlight on my bare upper arm.
In that moment, the realization, of my exhaustion of the world, that I need to go home. It's the only place I rest, from the world.