When the moon rises we climb into our beds as adults, but under the covers we lie as children. We ask to be tucked in by those we hold dear and beg for a story–one that will inspire our minds to play us dreams made in watercolors instead of charcoal. Because sometimes when we wake with gasping lungs and tangled covers, the frights remain even with our eyes open. Feral creatures replaced by real world terrors; monsters just beyond our windowsills. But for tonight, as you lay tucked between crumpled cotton, rest soundly alongside the one you love and allow the pillow to cradle your heavy head.