it is 4:55 in the ******* morning.
   i blame you.
      it's your fault that i am up this late.
         countless thoughts.
            racing mind.
               wondering
                  imagining.
                     what it would be like.
                        to be loved by you.
                           but that's as far as it goes.
                              my own imagination.
                                 and once i realize that.

it starts all over again.
sigh.