Why is it, that we grumble, we groan, lugging our heavy aching bodies around the circle of the clock, unwillinging to live.
But as soon as the night rises, your entire being suddenly fires alive.
It’s like the night sky has taken its spell on you, on me, nudging, screaming, caffeinating you better than actual caffeine.
The darkness enters into your soul, captivates you, and rides and feasts on you like a parasite to its host.
And then you’re stuck. Stuck in your own head.
Stuck in a whirlwind of thoughts zooming past you so fast that you don’t know which one to address, which one to give your time to first.
And then you relive the moments of your day, funny jokes said that you giggle to yourself again. You think about your overcomings, your proud little victories, but most of all, stupid clumsy moments.
It’s a dangerous path. It’s a gateway.
And then you start recollecting the memories of all the stupid things you’ve ever done.
All the awkward, embarrassing, excruciating moments that you’ve tried to for so long keep in the back of your mind.
Which of course, then makes you think of the pain you’ve gone through, and even though a second ago you were laughing, now you’re on the verge of tears because feelings come rushing back on memories that have been dormant for years.
It’s an emotional rollercoaster, you look at the time, and it’s only 12pm.
You lie wide awake, twisting and turning, switching position with no luck, and finally get up on your balcony to admire the moon and the stars.
You stare at the mesmerizing sight, and wonder if anyone else right at this moment, is going through the same thing you are.
The thoughts are so loud that your whole world is spinning.
You’re in an arena, with a thousand headless bodies shouting different things at the same time.
They all want something from you.
And you don’t know how to give it to them.
How to just make them stop.
You start re-evaluating your life, trying to decipher what you’re missing, what you’re craving.
You crave for something that you don’t have, something you don’t even know is missing.
It’s an interesting concept, and hard to satisfy.
You try to fall asleep again, but by now, that ideology seems foreign, alien.
You hear every sound in the room: the ticking of the clock, hear your brother’s snoring, smell the neighbour’s late night smoke, and feel the heaviness of the thick hot sheets suffocating you.
You wonder what people are dreaming about. How peaceful and at ease their minds must be.
You shut your eyes tight, trying to mute the sirens.
You fall asleep.
Only to know the same ritual will occur once more the following break of nightfall.
You wonder if you were made to do more than endure the night.
But there was something also so very attracting about it.
Maybe you were just given more time to figure things out.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
The life of an insomniac.