Mama, wake up, Fajr.
My 12 year old is hovering over me, quietly, at 6 am. I must nod my acknowledgement, because he nods back and walks away. I will get up, I tell myself. I will. In just one or two more minutes.
I don’t get up. I fall back into a deep sleep after having tossed and turned for the majority of the night.
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