Conundrum

Why is it,
that I can hear you stirring
at one in the morning,
when you said you'd be sleeping?
But rather,
you're awake in my mind,
racing about, mad,
with the sense you steal from my heart.
I was told,
to follow my heart,
but to listen to my head,
because the latter deserves more trust,
but you sleepwalk in both.
I am not rid of you.
So I am trapped,
with the conundrum of
figuring us out.
Because we are
a difficult and confusing question,
that I have only ventured to answer,
after failing at everything else.

What are we?