I was halfway to tabbing out,
  barstool tired,
  thoughts already drifting

  toward the quiet hum of empty sheets—

Then you walked in,
     like a gust of fresh wind
     through an open door,

     clearing out the cobwebs, resetting every clock in the room.

Everything after
     hit harder than expected…

     more laughter,
     more whispers,
     more touch,
     more you—

     and suddenly, closing time was just a suggestion.

This morning,
I’m dragging.

Body heavy, eyes half-open,
     coffee's out here pretending
     it can handle this job alone.

But that’s okay,
    because exhaustion feels different
    when it's your fault,
    and today—

    I’m proudly wrecked.

Your Bud Light socks
     still on my floor,
     a little blue-and-white testament
     to just how quickly plans can change,

     and how little I mind when they do.

Tonight, (let’s be honest)
     we’ll do it again—
     even more epic,
     even more exhausting,

     even more "how am I going to work tomorrow?"

I’ll figure it out later.

For now—

I’m here,
    happily sleep-deprived,
    slightly delirious,
    smiling like a fool—
    thoroughly,
    undeniably,

    perfectly socked.