9.5

Can I describe bone-tiredness?
There's a feeling I get in my chest when I really should be asleep. It's a feeling like the connective tissue behind my breastbone is all wore out from breathing so much. Its elasticity fails, or maybe it retracts back into its cave to sleep, and all I'm left with is a nagging pull on the back of my sternum.
There's a motion to my eyes. The lids droop closed, but that's not how I know I'm bone tired. When I'm fully exhausted, when I flick those hooded lids back open, I'll find that the left eye has wandered. It's just ever so slightly lazy, and it really starts to give up the ghost when I'm tired. I've been so tired before I couldn't keep it straight when the eyes were fully open. I don't do that anymore while I'm driving.
There's a sickness to my emotions. I'm never in bed. It's always too large. There's never enough space. Where a you should go, there are cold sheets. I miss waking up sweating, your legs uncomfortably hot against my legs, your back stuck to my chest, your breathing slow and shallow. I miss the idea of you.