“Daddy sleep,” you say as you point to the floor by your crib. I wonder what nightmares look like to a two-year-old mind and caress your cheeks until the tears are gone. You’re too tired to notice me screw up the words to your favorite lullaby. Maybe just grateful I’m kneeling by your side.

I’ve been pulled into your room. Dragged from sleep and thrown into consciousness by your irresistible force. I never escape it. I am in orbit. Endlessly falling. I know that some moons have white hot cores. Its planet reaches an invisible hand deep inside of the heart of the moon and squeezes a cold mass into burning life. I know what that feels like.