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April 17, 2008
Sleep touches the back of my neck, and I freeze the way people often do when you touch them there. My eyes close, and my body relaxes. I can feel her breath on my ear, coaxing me back to bed, arms suggestively circling my chest. But I have things to do. The sun is shining, and I know I have things to do. I can feel her now, sinking deep into my brain, but I get up, gently disengaging. Iím torn. Nothing is that important. Now sleep is wearing a pout. But of course, I have these things to do.