The amount of time it takes me to get out of bed
The amount of time it takes to convince myself that leaving the safety of soft covers is a better alternative than to not
The amount of time that I allow myself temporary weakness, that I allow myself the indulgence of weakness
From a mask stitched so closely that my face has become a stranger.
In which I welcome depression into my bed, and take her as lover.
Feels like 30 seconds, and eternity