I have not gotten more than four hours of sleep a night in over two years, with the single exception being the time you held me to you, moulded me to your body and let me settle, perfectly fit against you like clay. My only reprieve was your presence beside me that night.
But as you were my reprieve, I was your escape. A temporary solution to a long-term problem that you were not yet ready to address: the weight of it remained in the shadows of that night and the days that followed, the weeks we spent together and the nights I longed to be cradled against you once more.
I ignored it the way one ignores an expiration date... hesitantly paying attention at first, then slowly becoming secure in the false-hope that maybe that day will never come, that things will simply last forever.