Good morning

I saw myself sitting on the couch in the living room, facing the front door. The room was dimly lit with the curtains all drawn closed. Some sunlight still managed to get in. Every detail in the room had some brown or hospital green in it. Quite boring. I was correcting something in the strangely large notebook placed over the coffee table. Not an ideal setting for writing.

I heard her feet shuffling in the bedroom to my front-left, come to the doorway and stop.

"Good morning... ", she trailed off with a yawn, making a feeble attempt at covering her mouth with the back of her hand, slouching a bit as she stood.

I looked up towards her and returned her words, with no intonation.

She stood there for a second longer with sleepy eyes and dragged herself back into the bedroom, tangled hair of shoulder length finding their way back over her ears. I got back to the notebook.

I don't know who she is exactly. This is not our house. Or her's or mine. The writing materials are mine. She looked like someone in particular and also like a few others and once she turned she was just someone. Last night we were walking along a footpath surrounded by trees, with another friend who might now be in a different room. We have not seen each other in years. Her face had changed a bit and looked younger. I remember her falling asleep on the trek. How did that happen? I might have carried her in.

Was I dreaming? I tried opening my eyes and felt the shell. The eyelids were heavy, burning a bit as I had covered my head with a blanket.  Slightly light headed... I might be hungry among other things. Various muscles ached in different ways, indicating the boundaries of my existence.

I might have sighed bit and shrugged as much as one could in that state and went back to sleep.