I always know something was left unsaid when the insomnia kicks in. Days in a row of waking up between 2 and 3AM. My mouth dry and my fingers heavy. Movement required. Some kind of movement of these thoughts that stay stuck under my heavy tongue and hide in the space between my eyebrow. This very physical tightness from emotions I’ve suppressed below my collarbones. If only you could spend a moment outside of your coma. Your own prison. I…