Insomnia is like a friend, a wicked one who keeps the dim lights on, the music quietly playing and allows the night to be your home and dark sanctuary.
No living is as rich as for those who live during the night. Catacombs of sheets and pillows from the toss and turn that’s carved into tussled beds, sofas like life-rafts on wall to wall carpet of lava, reading half-open-eyed books and struggling to beat the sun coming up while limbs still fidget like a restless child.
Some of the most intense introspection involves burning oil at those valuable and terrible hours.
The black sky brings mystery and musings, observations flow more freely when there’s no daytime distractions.
Many times the dawn marks the end of the awakened day and comfortable dreams don’t appear until the beautiful morning is born.
One day at a time.