This poem sounds like the brief babbling of a lonely insomniac. I was laying in bed trying to figure out what I should write about for English class, angry because I can’t just force inspiration upon myself, when I remembered Ms. Champine’s poem that she shared with us. It was just what she was doing and what she saw, but it sounded so eloquent. I looked out my window and saw a plastic-looking tree branch, and every time it brushed against the window I thought it was my ex-boyfriend throwing a pebble at my window like he used to do. He left to go traveling about two weeks ago and I feel restless, like I want to go but I can’t move.