caroline is pathetic, you say? read for comfirmation.

At nine-thirty pm on a Friday, I close my eyes and mourn
the loss of losing sleep- the memory of a July
spent staying up to smile at the mirror, just
practicing; lucid dreams of might-have-beens;
staring down the clock at 11:10. I weep

in rememberance of distraction
I try a million ways to trick myself back into it: listen
to the same sweet song, track four on repeat;
never return Blockbuster's Pride and Predjudice.
I steal, beg and borrow glaces at the boy-next-
desk until his movements are committed to memory
timed beating of fingertips and slide of his feet.
Soon, I know him too well.

Drifting to sleep at nine-thirty-eight, I forget
my usual worries for fear of an existence spent
on half-hearted math class lust
distracted only by Mr. Darcy.

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really not sure about this.
assure me?