I awake in confusion. I'm still in my clothes, and my head is pounding. What time is it? I can hear your voice telling me, but my head is pounding to hard to understand what it is. I look at the clock. 2:30am. Why am I still in clothes? Why is the light still on? The events of last night come flooding back. My first instinct is to write in my notebook about it. I reach my hand under my pillow than freeze, remembering. It's like a slap in the face, again. Writing in it when I'm upset has become such an instinct that even though I know I don't have it I still need it. I feel your hand gently squeeze mine, and I feel a little better. My headache starts to wind down, and since I went to sleep so early I am no longer tired. That was equal to a full night's sleep. I quietly creep across my fuzzy purple carpet to my laptop. Flipping it open, I also turn the light off. I don't need mom to wake up, considering her room is across from mine. Sure, it didn't stop her from sleeping earlier but I just feel safer with the light off. I open up the search tap. I need to distract myself. You. I'll distract myself with trying to figure out about you. And then, like a bomb going off, it hits me. It must have been a thought from you. There's no other way I could have figured it out. Book, I hear echoing in my head. I'm in a book.
