My name is Ike. I am a writer. I drink way too much herbal tea and believe in the power of kindness, love and a good book.

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The Man who sits on My Sofa at 5.30 AM

The Man who sits on My Sofa at 5.30 AM

At 5.30am, just before the sky turns honey-amber, right there, in the dark space of my living room, sits a man, on my sofa. His posture is regal but alert, like he is poised for something, like he's anticipating. 

He is still for most of the time, his pupils are fully dilated, his ears attentive, his skin cool from the conditioned air, his senses accommodate all they can in this dark room.

In the still silence, he says nothing. If he was anything like me, he would cross his legs several times, or make a fuss in his seat, searching frantically for a distraction. He sees my pile of magazines, a little smile lights his face but he makes no move to pacify the discomfort of his wait.

Suddenly, he hears a rustle from my bedroom, he sits up with a start. He is hopeful. He cocks his head to the side, he holds his breath, then wills himself to breathe.

Photo credit: David Bragdon

Photo credit: David Bragdon

 The rustling stops and the silence returns.

He remains still on my sofa. Now the sun is peeking from the base of the sky, its rays streaking flamboyantly.

It's 6.30. Vibrations take over the ambience. My phone vibrates from the closet, where I have put it. I do this to ensure I get up, walk to it and turn it off, "the walk will wake me up," I always tell people, it will. My Fitbit violently vibrates against my wrist.

He is sure I will wake up now and see in a glance, the man who sits on my sofa at 5.30. The vibrations go on for a few minutes. His head is cocked again. His breath is held. He hears a dull thump, as my feet swing off the bed and hit the floor in a groggy stance.

He hears shuffling, I'm making my way to the vibrating phone. He is sure I will come out to the living room now. The phone stops.

He hears quick steps go into the bathroom; a flush; a rushed fall of barefoot steps; a rustle of bed fabric.

Then silence.

He stares out of my window at the sun and waits.

At 6.45am, I stumble out of my room. I stop short and stare at my empty sofa.


I'm forgetting something.


I forgot something.

I was supposed to meet with Him at 5.30am!

How did I forget?

I'm sorry that I stood you up for the umpteenth time, J-bae*. I sit dejected on my sofa. I should have set 6 alarms, I should have splashed some water on my face. I should have done the jumping jacks. I should have...

With every preemptive tip, I feel myself sink heavily into the soft cushions, my shoulders droop, my eye shut into slits. We were supposed to meet and talk like we always do, but I wouldn't get out of bed...and now he's gone away.

He's gone.

I lay my head on the side of my sofa, ashamed to pray or sing.

Then I feel it...a warmth, a glow, it surrounds me. It draws me in, like arms. It's so warm, my face breaks into a smile.

He isn't gone.

He is here.

He never left. ♥️


**One day, the word bae will become completely obsolete, but till then, J-bae, for me, is none other than Jesus!

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