Insomniac Diaries.
The road was particularly slippery the day I drove home after seeing you. My heart had taken a sullen color, the kind of color that secrets turn when you rest them under your pillow for too long. I wanted to call you as soon as I walked through the door that leads me into this house. I wanted to call you and tell you that you are the best thing that has happened to me since I learned how to write and read and listen to good music. I wanted to tell you that you shook my bones and picked my brain apart in ways that I never dreamed I could ever write about. And there I was, standing in this living room like it was the best day of my life. Because it was. But I didn’t call you because it didn’t matter. It will never matter because you were probably just naping on your couch as I was conjuring up the right arrangement of syllables to make sure you were mine forever. -Viv.
















