the weight behind my eyes right now, like unshed tears or maybe just exhaustion pretending to be something deeper, and the bodega light flickering again, is that a sign i should sleep, or a sign that nothing really lasts, that even the reliable things just give out eventually, but maybe eventually is okay, maybe a slow burn is better than a sudden snuff, and even the slow burns leave ash behind, a little warmth when you brush your hand against it, the ghost of having been, and i don't know why i'm thinking about ghosts, maybe it's brooklyn, all these layers of old brick and echoes, like you can feel the city breathing underneath you, all the ones who were here before, all the ones who couldn't sleep either, staring out their windows at the same strange light.