Insomnia: A Love Story.

Here you are once again. Wrapped around me at 4 a.m. Humming in my ear.

Look out, you say. Look out.

Look out for what?

Listening for bells. (Image by Nicole Smith.)

There is a breath of angels in the sky. Now a puppy. Now a dragon. Now it’s now.

Oh. What should we think about? The bills? The shifting nature of nature?

No. Not tonight.

It’s not technically night. It’s 4 in the morning. It’s morning time.

Mourning time.

For what?

For the day we will use up without thinking. Aren’t I the nicest, to be here with you like this? This is when we live forever.

I hoped for sleep.

Sleep, you say. Sleep is not here. Sleep is unfaithful, hopping from bed to bed. Who needs sleep, coming around dimming the lights and pulling the curtains. Outside there is the light of a dying star that you can only see once. In here there are twenty books on the bedside table. There is a new play written on the bed sheets. There is the memory of cats. There is wind through the cracks in the window. I’m a grand piano.

You’re not.

I’m a litter of kittens.

You’re not.

I’m a really good book.

Oh.

I’m here.

Yes.