Night. The darkness ebbs around me as a fight for some purchase, for a little bit of leeway as I try to find my bearings. Once that dreaded call of nighttime rolls around, it begins again. I know the routine, gone over that 'ole song and dance plenty of times. I find myself making excuses to avoid the darkness and the never-ending ticking of clocks. I desperately want to avoid the void, but I know it won't last.
Eventually I am forced to succumb to the normal human need of rest, and soon find myself tucked into bed, trapped in a self-made cocoon of fluffy sheets. Too warm with them and too cold without them, I find myself in a constant war between comfort and sanity.
It is then the game begins, just like every night. Sadly it seems to be a nightly routine of mine. As I lay alone in my room, I allow the darkness to pour over me, through me, as I begin to think. I don't mean to, but sleep always seems to have somewhere better to be than with me, leaving me with nothing but my thoughts and the greatest questions of life to ponder. On some nights I contemplate my purpose on this earth. On others, I let my over-imaginative brain off its leash to examine where my path might take me.
But then there are the rare nights. No thinking, no imagining. Just darkness and the ticking of that damn clock.
And those are the ones I hate the most
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