I can’t sleep. I wake up at 1, 2, 3 am. Most nights still, whatever or whoever it is, it navigates a way to find me. Strangely, I anticipate it. Strangely, I know it will come. Strangely, I don’t ignore it. Strangely, I don’t mind… Broken nights shape their rare stories… even if they’re just some left over pieces of cast away dreams… Adrift, they float in the lost sea. Nowhere to be anchored. Nowhere to rest… they fade into the fog of another quiet morning.