Heated Toddler

Her eyes blur from tiredness  
whilst typing love letters to the no one  
that fall deep and as profound as an unremarkable stone into an unremarkable city stream.
Under the nightness, the hue of bleak Winter, that Midsummer only allows in the later hours, she sits behind a blue  
backlit screen blinking away her moments of peace  
when Child is resting  
as only a child can.  
It seems to sense when she is trying to sleep herself  
or is just innocently suffering heat induced nightmares,  
Mother's empathy has burnt out somewhere in the day.  
Here, humble and melancholy, I admit  
it may not be time for sleeping  
but time for writing it's not either.