it's late out. it's always late out, it seems these days. all things that are meaningless are packed tight into my days. by my nights are left empty and open, because my bed is empty and open. i am not sleeping so much lately. but it's not the same as before. it's better than it used to be, it's not out of misery, but rather, out of longing. and though i have to get through it, i know i would sleep better, if only you were next to me.