Nighttime is a Longtime

I’m used to nights like these. I sit here for hours on end looking into the darkness and I feel the energy beneath my skin slowly slip into the emptiness of my bedroom’s silent air. You may be curious. What’s it like having insomnia? What’s it like to feel weaker and weaker, to grow sleepier and sleepier, and not be able to do the one thing your body cries out for? What’s it like to feel like a dead person caught in the wake of life, full-on? Do you notice your bones shivering in the cold of seclusion? What is it you think about, really? Are you lonely? Are you sad?

I would say that insomnia is much like having doubts in God. It’s a lot like biting into a tasteless orange. It’s one simple yet convoluted question going unanswered for five years. I’ll admit that I’m still asking the same question that I posed to the first night of these. I wonder what God’s plan is for my life. I ask myself if there’s meaning in this. I ponder where life is in death. I mean, it’s not dying, but it’s pretty damn close if you ask me. But, I’ve survived and I’ve survived and I’ve yawned and I’ve yawned more times than I know, and I have yet to come out and play in the technicolor of the seasons. “Tomorrow,” I tell myself, but it’s already tomorrow and I’ve yet to fall into a dream, the only light of the dark.

God, it’s me again. Please hear me. Amen.


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