Red Lights at 2:05 a.m.
By Natalie Intihar
I don’t call it sleep anymore—
I call it staring at the ceiling,
Wishing I was not alone,
Knowing my solitude is the best option
For what’s left of my sanity.
If I listen hard enough I can hear some
Random car driving down the road, a
Man going to visit a woman for the first or
Hundredth time. I hope she is
Happy to see him.