Perfection, by Paul Davis

I wake up
It’s 3:14 a.m.
I could feel a build up of mucus and tears in my eyes
I sit up in my bed my whole body aches
I move my tongue around and it sticks to the roof of my mouth
I sit up in bed the fatigue hits me
I stumble my way to the kitchen
My phone light illuminating the hallway
I approach the fridge and in one fluid motion I open it
My eyes singe from the light and I close them in instinct
As I slowly open my eyes the most beautiful sight beheld me
A cold sprite