That sleep leaves me barren on unforeseeable whispers, doesn't bother me That anxiety attacks on mid nights like this, doesn't really bother me You know, that tingly feeling of fear and uncertainty creeps up at the back of my throat and travels through the gut like a vile poison, and it doesn't bother me either What does, is that I calm fiery heartbeats by promising myself that two fortnights later I would be in your arms and the wetness of your lips on my drought skin would make it easier to pass nights as these. What really bothers me is that I promised myself not to fall in love, ever, not even remotely, And look, where we are.