The day begins. It is bright with sunshine and it smells like sweet grass. The hours pass by in my manic blur. All I recall is happiness before the dusk settles in and night falls.
The night brings sticky, humid air. It’s dark with too much silence in my world. Inside my mind, the wheels turn and I start to think.
When you rise to a feeling of euphoria only to crash moments later as an overwhelming anguish settles in, thinking takes on a new meaning. I analyze every word of every conversation I had that day, that week, even that month. I feel anxiety root deep in my belly with a nauseated sensation that accompanies it. Then the insomnia begins.
So here I am.
At 2:00am, I think of something I want so badly it physically pains me not to possess it. It is not a material good. Rather, it’s of an abstract design; almost like love, but simpler. You see, there lay a table in which my words, choices, and feelings were spread across. Then, someone came in capriciously and swiped their arm across, my carefully arranged setting fell to the floor. Irony of ironies, in that I share intimate thoughts with strangers. I open up with a dear friend and like a child who screams for a toy only to toss it aside, there goes my friend.
My thoughts in the wee hours of this Monday morning are of a person I held my hand out to and they reached back in turn, only to change their mind.
If I should fall asleep like I desperately pray for, these thoughts may be silenced, and the morning can bring my beloved sunshine back with the flowering plant outside my window that smells of honeysuckle.