professional insomniac..

juzkartik

,India

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Letters from a professional insomniac.

dear reader i cannot sleep

It is the early hours of the morning that show exactly what mankind is, since traffic is teeming at night but at 4am the roads are always close to empty.

cities that never sleep (at night) are never awake (at morning)

dEAR Lover i cannot say goodnight

Because my nights are never final, better with ‘see you tomorrow’, which promises for there to be a morning, indefinitely. My mind stages bloody twisted guerilla hide-and-seek with itself as I blink each time raindrops-

i i i fall on my face/ I have my eyes closed nearly always.

dEAR friend i am not afraid

The sounds of cars on the roads down the street are unsettling; they sound like someone moving next door instead, like someone coming to pick me up (hey, baby)

The glass is suddenly too thick and uneven. I hate how people say ‘he died in his sleep’ because it was never his sleep at all. ‘He died in our sleep’ may be more efficient, suggesting a lack of attention from the sleeper,

one who died. ‘In her dreams’ should never exist. The dreams were not hers to be in- in the dreams that she borrowed like a thief and desperate mother. In the sleep he died in like a 3rd-class passenger on the Titanic.

dEAR rival:

while you can; unlike me, when I dream I am sometimes a boy, if my dreams are not like motionpictures watched from birdseye views,

dream deep enough to ask my gender. (it makes sense that if life calls me a girl, it's wayward older sibling should call me a boy) often my dreams are shallow