Insomniacs (#1)

10. calm me

3 years later.

I never dream. I assume that I did when I was younger but I haven't dreamed in a long time. Nor have I had a nightmare, which I guess I should be grateful for.

Insomnia is said to account for fewer dreams, or less memorable ones so perhaps that explains it. I wish I could shut my eyes and dream because in all honesty, I miss sleep.

I miss it as if its a person, as if its a thing I could mourn.

I'm not sure you're capable of understanding the true impact of sleep until you can't get it. Until so much of you is effected because of it. A rest. An escape. Recuperation - sleep gives it all.

So when you can't escape and your body is forced to keep going on the small amounts of energy it has left every day, it effects you as a whole.

Irritability is constant, anger has become my default emotion in situations I'm faced with and fatigue has become my companion. Yawns are like my renowned habit and restlessness is overwhelming.

There I lay, fidgeting with my fingers and a cigarette at my lips, on my rooftop once again. Wondering what it feels like to dream in the depths of the autumn night.

My eyes had been lingering across the stars for a while now, a concept coming to mind again.

I looked around to make sure there was absolutely nobody in my vicinity before looking back up to the stars. I cleared my throat, feeling my cheeks tint from embarrassment as I shifted to sit up.

"Hi." I tried out but grimaced instantly, lying back down and dismissing the idea.

I sound like a fucking idiot. It was silent as I blew out the thick smoke into the crisp, night air. I looked around again, just for good measure.

"Hi. Again." I cleared my throat, already wanting to slap myself. I groaned at myself before taking a deep breath and folding my arms behind my head.

"Okay. Hey. Guys-" I cut off by laughing at myself.

"Okay, I guess I'm doing this." I shook my head at myself, taking a deep breath and looking across the speckled stars.

"Sometimes, I wonder if you'd still like me if you knew me now. I'm smoking so April, you'd hate me. Well, I suppose if you knew me now, I wouldn't be who I am now." I jutted out a shoulder and for the first time in my life, spoke to the stars.

"I don't really think you're up there. Or anything stupid like you're listening but- I don't know." I huffed out, crushing my cigarette underneath my converse.

"I suppose I like the possibility." I admitted, picking at the hem of my hoodie as I sat up again.

Silence. It encompassed me but oddly, it felt nice. Like a space entirely for me to fill by speaking.

"I'm in America- that's weird huh?" I scoffed, a dismal, sad sort of scoff, "They're weird here. I miss Greggs."

"I'd probably still be in London if you were here. But you're not." I tugged my lips down, speaking with non chalance, "God, I'm bad at this." I shook my head, running a hand through my hair.

"I have best friends. Which you can't guilt trip me about because you both died." I said with amusing accusation that sounded way too much like I was having a genuine conversation with someone.