I find myself late at night grinding out ideas on my phone instead of sleeping. The notion is fulfilling, with a highlight of curious fatigue. I stare at my computer, thinking of potential material to write, and I can’t hold my concentration any longer than I can hold a conversation with the wall.
When I’m in my bed, however, I have a composure that remained hidden elsewhere. Does my muse sleep in my bed? I wonder. I’m not alone in my bed, but I never thought that my muse slept in my bed. Can I even believe in something like that?
Well, enough of that. My muse is sleeping, and I’m going to join her in unconsciousness. Have a fair evening, reader.
And thanks for reading.

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