A hot summer night makes for a restless morning. The digits on the clock are at a standstill, and it seems like it’s been that way forever. My chestnut-colored lenses are weary, yet restless at the same time. I continue to glue them to the screens that surround me.
My phone goes off at every moment. Sometimes I wish it would shut off on its own, get away, and just leave me in silence.
Inside these four giant borders there is calm, the only place in the world where I am as completely relaxed as this still oak floor.
Anywhere outside is chaos and ruckus. While the sounds of police sirens or screams, shouts, and panic go off on the frigid cold streets, I still feel at peace in this bedroom. You could say it’s something like a safeguard to me.
Even with all of this, sleep is something that seems to run away from my mind. I see sunlight shining through the blinds and sometimes yearn for it. At the same time, the only time when the house is ever at a standstill is in the deep navy night, and in the early mornings. In a way, I want this feeling through- out the whole day.
When my puny nieces and nephews are sprinting in and out of my cave, I want that silence, that peace, that tranquility. Being alone is a gift at times; you want it when you don’t have it, and vice versa.
That moment when you come home after a long, tiring day and just leap into your sheets is the best feeling in the universe. The marshmallow-like pillows absorb all my dreams, all my thoughts, all my words. The walls sort of talk to me, they listen to me.
My eyelids are fighting each other as the birds chirp outside the glass screens behind the shades, and slowly, but surely, finally...sleep.