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The insomnia slowly creeps in on the edges of my brain, every night. It causes me to stare at the ceiling, stare at the blankets, stare at the door. I end up thinking about life, death, and if God believes in me or not.

Then I think about you.

And I'll get up in the morning, and you'll say, "How are you?"

And I'll lie, "I'm good, how are you?"

You won't call me out on the lie, because you never do, you never do.

I don't want to get upset at you, and I'll go about my day pretending I'm fine, because I told you I was.

I told you I was fine, and I'm not.

I'm slowly breaking apart inside, and I'm thinking about Heaven and Hell, and I'm thinking about God.

I'm thinking about if you're wondering what I'm doing, and how you feel about me.

I want to know how you feel about me.

But I'm worried and I'm anxious and I'm good at hiding it.

I don't know how I'll feel in the morning, or even in the next hour.

Yet in that time, I know I'll be thinking about you, and your hair, because your hair is good and your hair looks nice with the light shining on it, just like that. Don't ever move, your hair looks good.

During my 2nd period class, I'll wonder what you're doing, and I'll wonder if the light is still hitting your face, and I'll wonder what you're doing this weekend.

I don't know what you'll be doing, but I know what I'll be doing.

I'll be lying awake at night, replaying the conversations I've had with you, over and over and over again.

"How are you?"

"I'm good, How are you?"