There’s that moment when the exhaustion burns from the whites of your eyes, straight back to the hook of your damn head.
If you peep over at the clock radio you’ll be at once rendered blind by the hot, fuzzy red, and incredulous at how much time has escaped you. How little is left before you must abandon your bed.
Speaking of which…the sheets are bunched up in all the wrong places. Pillows stationed at random checkpoints, marking spots where you’d posted up for undetermined stretches of time.
Your stomach is folding over itself, and you wonder if this is what happens when you’re asleep...bec that’s what you should be doing at this particular moment.
But who can sleep at 1, 2, 3, 4 in the morning…
“You see what time it is?”
“I don’t care to look.”
The newness blossoms in the wee hours. The fundamental necessity of sleep is rendered optional, when you lose yourself and all track of time within the amusing cadence of the voice in your ear. Laughing, sighing, and making a mockery of your anytime minutes.