Sometimes I lie awake at night composing elaborate poems in my head. The wine is wearing off and the darkness is wrapped around me and I see words through it. Words that make perfect sense and flow so perfectly and I make it a point to remember what those words looked like as I drift to sleep. When I wake up, they are gone. I know that they were there because I can feel them hiding from the light of day and the chaos of the morning. I miss them and I wish that I had gotten my fat ass up to write them down.

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