How do I sleep?

How do I sleep when tomorrow feels like a rumor? When my dreams cost more than my wallet can whisper, and the night hums louder than my stomach? How do I sleep when my mother’s prayers sound like apologies for a world that hasn’t kept its word? When my friends talk about progress and I laugh to hide the ache in my chest. I try counting blessings, but the math doesn’t math sometimes — so I count streetlights instead, and wonder if they ever get tired of shining for people still lost on their way home. Still… somewhere between exhaustion and faith, I whisper to myself: You’ll get there, one day. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but one day — when the stars finally clock in on your side, and your heart stops sprinting against the dark. So how do I sleep? I don’t. I dream with my eyes open — and call that survival.