[ ] keep turning the lamp on after i go to sleep.

my mother thinks i’m sleepwalking again. i tell her

i haven’t done that since i was four, she says, you never know.

some things don’t change. some things come back to haunt us.

she doesn’t seem to recognize the irony. but [ ]

keep turning the lamp on after i go to sleep. some nights i wake up and turn it off,

mutter let me sleep, goddammit,

and it takes [ ] a few days to come back.

but lately i’ve been leaving it on. i even bought a sleep mask. are [ ] happy?

yesterday the bulb was barely warm when i touched it.

we must have just missed each other.

[ ] keep turning the lamp on after i go to sleep, and i don’t blame [ ].

(that day i came home and sat on the floor to talk to [ ], remember that?

the walls here don’t echo but i could hear [ ] listening and i couldn’t help but wonder—

who am i to deny you light?)

in dreams, i pluck the veil that separates us and use it to make up my bed.

one day i will wake up to [ ] and draw [ ] close to me

so close my hands pass through your body

so close your body passes through mine

good morning. good morning. i’ve been waiting for [you].