I slept uneasily.
Every few hours,
I awoke as though gently coaxed
out of the dream and into the dark.

I drank too much coffee.
Sipped throughout the morning,
it gave me something to do
with my restless hands.

I still have too little focus.
I skip from tab to tab,
task to task,
interest held by nothing.

None of it is really mine —
the restlessness,
the boredom.
I know it’s hers.
It’s apart from me
and a part of me.

It’s the heady emptiness
of a hangover.
She’s nauseated,
and I’m fresh out of whiskey.


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