I am afraid of falling asleep, I am afraid of bumping into you along the way. The feeling of your hips against mine is more than just a memory, and it’s still hard to believe that I will never hold you again. I’m worried that I will be this way forever. My writing is consumed by you, and I am sickened by it. I wish I had an easier time falling asleep. I wish I had someone’s arms around me right now. I am dancing with insomnia to the beat of my pen hitting the paper, writing about what it feels like to be alone.