Insomnia

I can't sleep.

It's not that this couch is uncomfortable. Or that the cracked window lets in too much of a moonlit chill. It's not the sirens passing by. Or the uncertainty of whether they're heading towards or away from the scene. It's not the iced coffee drank too late in the afternoon or the blue light from my screen. 

It's the unknowing of what you're doing three hours in the future. It's wondering if you're comfortable in your bed. It's hoping that you're warm enough. It's the resounding silence of not hearing your voice or your breath of dreams. It's knowing I can't share a cup with you too early in the morning. Or stare out a window with you by my side. Not having to say a word. Just  to be near you. Just to see you face to face. 

Just to sleep.