I don’t sleep when you’re away, my thoughts chase, circling ceaselessly without remorse.
Each hour weighs a ton, each minute pounds against my skull, what if? What’s that? Check
The clock. If I fall asleep right NOW, I could manage five hours before the alarm sounds, now
Four, then three. Who does math at four a.m.? Could I reset the alarm? Thirty minutes
More? But I’ve already eaten up that time with my calculations. Please hurry home. I don’t sleep.