• Jason D Geary


I flick off the bedside lamp even though I am not tired. Maybe the darkness will trick me, make me yawn, and bring my eyelids crashing down.

It doesn’t.


The sounds of cars on the freeway overpass running by my hotel window provide no comfort. I think of you and suddenly the bed feels big.  I wish that it is your gentle breath I here next to me, not the sound of tyres on wet asphalt. 

I’ve not closed my blinds properly, through the slight gap the lights of passing cars parade across the wall at the foot on my bed. Gentle at first as the cars approach then fast as they go by. The sudden urgency gives the impression of running away from something, trying to escape. What could this many cars be running from? If it were the end of the world, I’d welcome it. It’d put an end to this wretched loneliness.


Now I’m thinking about you and the tyranny of distance.  I begin count the passing lights on my wall. Ugh. I see your face in them. Great. I’ll never get to sleep now.  


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