As The Bells Chime

I listen to the bells chime the half hour, and remember how I counted with mind-wandering reflections when the hour passed just 30 minutes ago. It's so tiring, and I want to sleep. I want to write this bit first, though, just this little bit. It could be so perfect, were I to get it right.

I chew at my lip. The upper is slightly dry, and I should probably buy myself some greasy balm to use. I know I won't, I hate the stuff.

There's so much to write in these next few seemingly vital words. I could put so much in, but it's important it stays short. Every word needs a purpose, every action some realism and relevance, and every phrase must be exactingly within order.

I want to get this right, but I'm so tired. I listened to the bells with my head only barely off the keyboard, resting, eyes closed. The world drifted in blackness behind my eyelids, and it could have been peace.

I will write this before I sleep, and I know that it will be worth it.