“If you don’t write
Every. Single. Day.
You will fail”
My mind says. As I try to fall asleep on the pillow I will be rising from hours before the sun kisses the horizon.
Then that part of my mind says under her breath
“don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”
before she turns and retreats into white space.
I drag my bedraggled head off of the pillows that still smell like the boy I miss, out from between the freshly laundered down duvet, and to the end of my bed where I take up my phone — and in the darkness I lay a track for my night of dreams — and tell an audience of my mom the last five minutes of my day.
Maybe now I will succeed
Maybe now I will sleep.