This morning I lay awake, unable to sleep. Just thinking. And tonight it's become something of a habit. Everytime I close my eyes I'm dreaming, yet when I'm awake and lying in this bed I feel lonely. Perhaps because I know it's not mine, and I'm somehow influenced by the atmospheric melancholy of the one who owns it.
I think about all the people I've ever met and cut ties with, and I think about sleeping with them. Simply that, a warmth to wake up to in the morning.
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