The boy rolled in bed for hours until the morning almost came. He decided to get out of bed early before the noticeable absence of her arm around his body frightened him. Quickly finding his shoes he creeped out of his room and down the hall, pleading with the cracking of the floor so to not wake anyone else in the crowded building. When he made it out, the voice of the night over took him. It was almost like a language that only he spoke. He drew a Chesterfield from deep in his pocket and let it sit on his lip while enjoying the words of the night. Finally he lit his match and carried it towards his mouth. Before he had the chance to inhale, he heard her coming. He didn’t see her, but he just knew that it was her. The cigarette fell from his lip and in an attempt to catch it, swung his hand low and awoke with a thump on his mattress. He wanted to fall asleep again. He wanted to dream again.