I wake in the night thinking about 17 lives, and I say to myself:
This is good, this waking.
My heart has not grown numb or too defeated.
It will continue to voice:
I wake in the morning, my heart aching, but I can’t remember why.
Am I sad about something? Worried? Is it something I ate?
Later, I come across my sister’s post about her pillow talk with my 5-year-old nephew…
…How did a guy with a gun even get in a school?
…When I go in in the morning, the door is just open, would a guy come in the morning?
…What are the new rules?