I haven’t been able to sleep for the past couple of nights,
something I wish that could just be classified as a typical case of insomnia.
But I know the reason for my wandering, rambling mind
extends far beyond a simple medical diagnosis.
As I lay awake tossing and turning I've deduced that I have two possibilities to explain
my current misfortune.
My first option is that I’m nearing the brink of insanity -
which I’m trying to convince myself is true-
because I don’t think I could come to terms with the other reason.
And yet there’s no evading it.
Every time I close my eyes, I see her face and inadvertently find myself submerged in her perfection. This is then accompanied by a pitiful pang of longing.
The truth is, I didn’t come for her.
It was never about her.
In fact, right before I got myself into this mess I had constructed a mental compilation of things I wouldn’t allow myself to do.
I had reassured myself with a definitive firmness that if I broke her heart, I wouldn’t lose any sleep over it.
Of course, that was when I still could sleep.
That was before I developed a stupid conscience.
That was before everything changed.
And now I’m running out of options and running out of time.
This started off as a short story which I attempted to mold into something poetic. Which format do you think suits it better- short story or poem?