Off like the faucet that drip drip drips in the sink at night, keeping me from my slumber.
Sleep is the only thing I ask for tonight, as I've worn myself out thinking about you.
But you don't just invade my thoughts, you invade my soul, my dreams, and that strange dark place that I call "me."
I lose myself to the dripping of the leaking faucet that'll never turn off, swept away by the presence of the moon and stars.
Although the stars are not the manifestation of my dreams, no not tonight, they are clouded and muddled by fleeting glimpses of you.
Maybe it isn't you; it doesn't look like you, or smell like you.
And then I wake up.