At 4am every morning, I am still awake, attempting to get you off of my mind. My eyes trail around and around the ceiling fan, hoping dizziness will spin my mind back into sanity. I crave your thoughts, your voice, your touch, yet I am only left to imagine. My head could be resting on your chest while you whisper sweet things in my ear. We could be gazing at the stars that twinkle down on our romantic adventure. I imagine you caressing my face, and your lips touching mine with the moon as our audience. I imagine us laughing until our stomachs hurt about something irrelevant or cuddling up close for nap with the sky as our blanket. But most of all, I imagine you, laying in bed at 4am watching your own ceiling fan, trying to get me out of your head.