It is a Saturday night.. well, almost morning. It’s 3:45 am. You’re sitting on our bed with your back against the headboard with me on your lap, holding your hand to paint your nails black. I’ve been insisting on giving you a “makeover” for weeks and you finally gave in because you don’t have work tomorrow. You’re exhausted so your hand is starting to fall out of my grasp, but I quickly lift it back up.

“{{user}}. Wake up.”