This is

A poem about absolutely nothing beneficial to anyone.

Curled up
with your nose pressed against mine
I wait
for you to think I am asleep
so you will kiss my cheek
and smile at me
and try hard not to wake me
while I "slumber"

--

I am finding more and more every day that six billion, well, that's a lot of people. And I'm also starting to realize how much easier it would be, to become an accountant, or something, than to become a writer. An artist. A poet. A what-have-you. So many people share my dream. I am afraid that this just wont work out the way I've always planned.

I'd like to speak (well, type) a bit more about things like this that are on my mind, but sleep is tugging on my sleeve (which is something I am not used to), and I'm going to partake. I suppose. I don't know.

I'm just so scared, because I am the happiest I have ever been.
What if I lose you?