It is 4am

I am not ready.

My eyes sting with confusion and lack of sleep

Strange noises come from this odd hotel room.

A grinding buzz due to strange breathing

A chorus of dreamers,

The soft inhale, and exhale

They’re alive.

Sharing beds, I want to cry without disturbing anyone else’s sleep.


Afraid to leave evidence of emotion

—Such as a damp pillow case or misplaced gasps for air no longer in tune with theirs.

My mind dances for each new dot that appears on my skin

Or for the sudden pain I feel when speaking

I still myself and wait for exhaustion to take me

An imagined place where I can make sense of everything.

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