It happened again, two things:  1.  Forgetting the amazing idea I thought of while falling asleep, the idea I believed so amazing that there would be no possible way that I would forget upon awakening, but I have, as usual, and 2.  Going to sleep moody from saying mean things.  Why do I say such things?  I suppose these things wring themselves in my brain, quicker and quicker, like a washing machine, that finally there is no where else to go but out.  And they fly out of my mouth with no restraint.  I whimpered a bit in the night to get him to notice me, for him to awaken and ask me worriedly—“What’s wrong?  Are you having a nightmare?  It’s OK—I’m here!”  But he slept soundly, without a smidge of movement that I turned up the volume on my whimpers.  He slept lovely; nothing bothered him, he had a clear conscience.  Oh!  There you go, dangling my heart out of your mouth like a cigarette.


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