I Should Really Learn My Lesson

In the middle of the night, especially when I am not able to sleep, I can compose the most beautiful and heart-wrenching lines. I say them over and over to myself, amazed at my own words. Thankful for the gift.

But I don't get up and write them down.

I know every writer worth their salt keeps a pen and paper next to the bed, and I actually do this. But the problem is that I don't want to turn on the light and wake my husband, or get out of bed to go somewhere where I can turn on a light without disturbing anyone. Because this then adds to the sleepless issues.

So I don't write them down. I repeat them over and over, praying that the words will still be with my in the morning. Last night was no different than a hundred other such nights. I awoke this morning without them. Bereft.

Now, I am here wishing -- again -- that I had just sacrificed the sleep. Because I am wordless, and I hate that. I don't have any delusions that the words I wrote last night were going to be perfect this morning, but they would have been words...