I’m so sleepy and I’m so cautious and I have pages and pages of writing and words and thoughts and they fall out of my brain before sleep and I’m not sure if I want them to all be about you or if I want none of them to be about you.
I’m not sure if I want to publish this or pretend it never happened.
I’m not sure of much.
I’m sure that my face is warm and my cheeks are red. I’m sure that in a few moments I’m going to clumsily get into my pajamas and stretch out on this bed and contemplate whether or not I need a movie to sleep.
I’m sure that when I saw people dancing this weekend it made me smile.
I’m sure that I’ll wake up in the morning and check my phone before the sleep has even left my eyes.
I’m sure that I always do.
I’m sure that right now, I’m happy enough and my deliberate words won’t fail me as they take shape and begin to resemble the stories I need to tell.