The mornings are the worst. I can feel it like a weighted blanket thrown over my mind, my thoughts, my emotions.
Sneaks in like a fog, rolling through the night looking for an unsuspecting valley to settle into. The stillness of sleep is the open door through which it enters the town. The gatekeepers have fallen asleep on their watches, the enemy arrives unseen. All defenses, walls cannot repel the mist.
The intruder does not belong there, but he knows the layout of the city. He knows how to jump the gates, he knows the way to central square. Then city hall.
The center of thoughts, feelings, hopes and dreams.
A coup.
A takeover.
An Invasion.
Undetected by slumber, the enemy anticipates, awaits in freshly conquered territory. He knows the vanquished will be conscious soon.
Wakened to recognize the foe has come, come again.
Hope and Healing 
The enemy is our own thoughts and being stuck in our own tiny world.
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