Sometimes I can’t believe it. 

A midnight thought, alone in the darkness, is almost never welcomed.  Yet it rushes to meet you like an unfriendly winter breeze.  Asleep as you are, defenseless as you are, it is believable.  It is a vivid reality, a memory warped by time and want and dread.  You grasp it, desperately press it close to you even as you wake.  Then, like a whisper, it slips away. (Kettering from Hospice)

Repeated songs from The Antlers.