Thoughts Before Sleep

            It’s strange to try to forget someone that you want to remember. My palms turn inwards and outwards in memory and anticipation. It’s one way and then the other, my mind and then my heart, until they get mixed into a snarl that can’t be untangled. The acts of forgetting and remembering are concerts inside of me, clashing their melodies into vortexes that I’m scared to stick my toes into. What will happen? I lay on a perfectly made hotel bed, quite a simple body. Tomorrow is confusion, and I wonder why I wonder about it so. Time to sleep.