Usually I stay up late, my time alone. Tonight at 9o I can tell I`m only awake long enough to put my sons to bed. When I start to turn off lights the boys are puzzled. They`re used to entering sleep by ceding to me their hum and fizz, the way they give me 50¢ to hold so they can play without money. I`m their night-light. I`m the bread baked while they sleep. And I can scarcely stand up, dry in the mouth and dizzied by fatigue. From our rooms we call back and forth the worn magic of our passwords and let one another go. In the morning Sebastian asks who was the last to fall asleep and none of us cares or knows.SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
The script ran 0.001 seconds.
