It’s 12:30 am. I spent the last hour tossing and turning in my bed, listening to the scurrying feet of the cockroaches, trying to fall asleep. But sleep won’t come. There isn’t a single thread of sleep in my body to lull me.
I can’t stop thinking about her. Any time I find myself slipping off, the image of her smiling that dazzling smile appears out of nowhere and sets my heart racing again. I remember the line I’d read in a poem by Neruda, “the night, so immense, is still more immense without her.” It certainly is, maestro, it certainly is.