night of endless possibility

what if I stay up all night and don’t set the alarm?

what if I wake up late, so late, well after the light comes up? after the hum of birds? and after the campus comes to life with the noise of trucks and small machines?

what if I take all the sheets off the bed and sleep on the bare mattress, my skin sticky on its spillproof surface?

what if I call you this late at night, so late, let the phone ring out in the dark on your bedside table where you plug it in before you go to sleep? 

what if when you pick up the phone, your voice heavy and low, I say only: I am alone. I am lonely. Talk to me. 

what if I fall asleep in this bed, the sheets intact, the phone call not made, the pen still in my hand, scrawling across the page?

what if instead I stumble out into the dark night and run barefoot beneath the unfamiliar trees, their leaves still wet with the evening rain, my arms open wide, shouting: I want more than this life can give? 

what if I wake to the alarm in the morning? to birdsong and early light? and rise for a run beneath the shade of the now familiar trees and running and running and running.