She often holds her head in her hands
Looks down, pulls at the sides of her eyes
Thinks about it for a while
And then lets it go.
She gets up and busies herself
Stays up late, avoids the pillow
But when sleep is inevitable
She rests her head on the pillow
Holds a cushion between her arms
Clasps her hands together
Now they can’t travel to her head
So she doesn’t have to think about it.
Not really.

~Moniba

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