I never knew I'd say this much about this

The nights.

There are. A few. Kinds. Of love.

That. I lay awake in.

One. Where. You are loved. 

In absence of the sleep. That refused to come to me.

But God knows why, you refuse it.

Pauses. Synapses.

The second. Where. You love.

An orchestrated disharmony involuntary.

But God knows why. You are refused.

In auto-writing.

And the third.

Maybe.

Where it's both.

The best love stories are the ones.

But the outcome is of either.

That never are.

And there's one more.
Of where fairytales come from.