It’s almost warm I think as the liquid creeps past my lower lip.  Like a blanket.  Like when I use to hide in the middle of my bed under the covers with only my wide open eyes visible. Groggily I would stare out at the shadowy world till sleep grabbed me by the ankle headless of my misplaced worry. Now, like then, I struggle to keep my eyes open, and deep I inside I know the result will be the same.  Still… I try.


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