Can't Sleep

I'm up, well past bedtime. The only sound echoing throughout the house is the ticking of the bathroom clock. I sit, curled on the couch, a blanket pulled up to my chest, hands gripping the novel that I just couldn't wait for morning to finish. The tears come in waves as the story ends in ultimate tragedy; the death of a child. I slowly walk up the stairs toward bed, pausing outside my daughter's door. I want nothing more than to scoop her sleeping form into my arms and never put her down. Maybe if I hold her to me tightly enough, I can fight off any harm or illness. But I know this isn't true. She will have trials. She will have injuries. She will have illnesses. She will have broken hearts. I can waste my life away with worry for what's coming next. Or I can enjoy every moment while I watch her live.