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We have to be together
because it makes no sense
any other way

at night
when nothing whatsoever is wrong
even the possessive dark won’t
claim my consciousness
I lie in bed untouched
by sleep and thinking
about the comfort
of your presence
and it’s my own space
my boring old apartment where
you and I stashed our things
that day
when we flew to the island
my breakfast ingredients
perfectly sliced and
partitioned in containers
patiently waiting for morning
inside the fridge
the fridge making that
low humming sound
and the clock ticking
kicking its paced pedals
to sunrise
and all I can think about
is, people are not meant
to go to bed alone
ever again and listen to this
to everything
in case I left water running
somewhere or forgot to
turn off or unplug something
that might go boom
or they might need to
evacuate the building for
some emergency or other
and I’d better be ready
making lists in my head
of what to bring,
ID, keys, purse, phone
a sweater since it’s January
and where I can grab them

and I should slow down

it’s just insomnia
no need to go crazy
I just need your touch
to give me a stick of peace
and you’re not here

“The Sleepless” by photographer Stan Deeks