good night.

i couldn't sleep. i tossed and turned and flipped my pillow and put an arm under it then moved it. laid on my stomach, on my back, on my side. laid on the foot of the bed. covered myself with three blankets, two, one, with nothing. put some socks on because i had heard that if your feet are warm it's easier to fall asleep. nothing. so i took them back off. put some pants on, changed my shirt. turned the radio on, turned if off. counted sheep, goats, cows. counted my own hair. counted to 100, 200, 400. cracked my knuckles, wrists, ankles, toes, knees, jaw. tapped my feet. i tried to write and i read. i breathed heavily and then lightly. i smoked a cigarette and played with the ashes on the ashtray, writing your name with finger. i laid back down and stared at the ceiling for hours. it was 4am and all i wanted was to sleep. and then i realized i couldn't sleep because you never said good night.