I have been going to bed too late. When the little hand on the clock hits ten I always tell myself time for bed. But I don't move. Instead I sit there while the big hand moves its way around the clock. Each night it is getting a bit later. Five after, ten after, fifteen.
When I wake up in the morning it is an effort to drag myself out of bed. I'm tired.
Still, that time is mine. I can't give it up.