Awake in the night, watching sparse snow flakes fall,
wishing I could see the demon that is out there,
that can see me so clearly.
Hot, black coffee, because what is sleep? What are dreams?
Rebekah is in my mind, poetess, the impossible good thing.
Not her, not any other woman, will ever be at my side in these moments.
I lay down in my bed, knowing there is no hiding from the demon, he knows all.
My enemy is closer to me than any passing women ever was, knows me true.
The snow stops, the night goes on, and I dream of being innocent.
Of kissing Rebekah on our wedding day.