It’s already past ten and you wonder if Sleep is having a more intimate relationship with someone else, for recently it barely has time to console you in the evenings when it’s either too hot or too cold. You feel a tinge of jealousy and an urge to scream; it is not your fault, it never has been. You press your left cheek on your pillow and close your eyes—finding solace in false darkness.
It is as if there are no walls in your room tonight. In your mind you hear the howl of the wind and you feel the damp draft touching your skin. The cold is almost unbearable, but you realize it is the middle of summer and no breeze should be able to enter your four-cornered sanctuary, with the door locked and the windows secured tight. The hum of the fan seems to get louder and louder with every beat of your heart, and so you decide to turn it off without relying on sight. You find relief in the fact that the switch is in reach.
You turn back and forth in an attempt to warm yourself by means of constant movement, shuddering every time your blanket fails to cover any part of your body.
And then the realization that you have a blanket sinks in. You shouldn’t feel that high of a chill.
You push your doubts backwards, but your imagination is always in activity and never enters inactivity. You try to drown your grim thoughts, blocking its path with a measly plank. Alas, they keep on resurfacing.
“Look up.”
You are careless; the pull of the invisible force is enough to make you abandon the comforts of a closed eyelid. This time, you think that curiosity might finally kill the cat.
The ceiling brings forth a surprise. You hope it’s just a dream.
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