n. continuation of something usually to an exceptional degree or beyond a desired point |

I am writing this as I lay in bed with the blinds up - while everyone else sleeps and the cars glide past on the lonely faraway street - with Ekki múkk (by Sigur Rós) on repeat, the end credits to my day. 
It was everything, those nights on the phone, everything we said until late became later and then later and very late and finally to go to bed with my ear warm and worn and red from holding the phone close close close so as not to miss a word of what it was, because who cared how tired I was in the humdrum slave drive of our days without each other. I’d ruin any day, all my days, for those long nights with you, and I did. But that’s why right there it was doomed. We couldn’t only have the magic nights buzzing through the wires. We had to have the days, too, the bright impatient days spoiling everything with their unavoidable schedules, their mandatory times that don’t overlap, their loyal friends who don’t get along, the unforgiven travesties torn from the wall no matter what promises are uttered past midnight, and that’s why we broke up.
With the beautiful crackles and soundscapes that fill my room while fuzzy thoughts leave my head, I can slowly feel myself surrendering to sleep and to the cosmic world of dreams that lay just beyond. 
When chronic sadness leaves you at the end of the day and I wake into a world where everything is right again.
Goodnight xx

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