You keep saying it’s the lack of sleep.

That your messages today—
     more playful,
          frequent,

     a lil' more “oops I hit send” than usual—

     are just side effects
     of being airlifted from ATL at a time when God isn’t even awake.

But I’m not buying it.
    Not with receipts like yours. (ghost hours)

'Cause the flight was short.

The delay was mild.

And your Thumbs? No signs of turbulence.

Your texts don’t read foggy,
     they read… present,

     *Here*,

     With me.

Which means one of two things:
      Either you’re so tired
             you’re accidentally charming,
      Or—
         and go with me on this—
         you’re just missing me.

And that little ache at the edges of your emojis?

That wasn’t the plane pressurizing—
                    that was *you*,
                         softening.

So sleep if you must.
             Hydrate.
     Hug your people.

But don’t blame the pillows for the way your heart keeps drifting back this way.

I know the difference between
  jet lag
  and
  sweet on me.

And you?
    You’re not *that* tired.