After, he felt the hollow, desire it was so. He felt his heartbeat in slow and deep of pulse within his chest, its strike into his septum and appendage tingle of hands and legs.
Maybe it was sleep, he told himself, but knew that it was else—an else, alone, that would not be.
So he wrote and read a little more until his all was calmed; and when restored, early hours of morn, he tried again for brief few hour’s sleep.