Saturday, October 20, 2007

Sleepless


Photosource: Unknown

It's 4am and I'm right in the middle of an insomnia I don't quite understand.
It's been a while since I've stared at a blank Microsoft Word Page…
Since I've felt like I have something to say.
And yet… I don't really have nothing important to say…
Nothing special to share… although there’s so much I could tell.
For the first time in a long time, I feel like time isn't whispering in my ear.
I don't feel the urge to do any of those things I should do…
It's just me and a blank page and a dictionary full of words in my head that I can't put into sentences… I'm not depressed, though I have things to be sad about.
I'm not smiling, though deep down I'm happy.
I discovered a brilliant song in one of my neighbouring blogs and I'm letting myself feel it… savour it… flow with it…
I think too much.
It feels good not to think about anything at all, to not worry about this or that…
to just be.
I contemplate fate… as a distant observer.
Instead of weighing things, I just recall them for what they are and how they happened.
The things that got me here… The things that make me what I am
And what I'm not.
The things that people do… the things that people didn't do… but wanted to.
Curious…
That nothing particular keeps me awake, but I'm not enough at peace to go to sleep.
Sometimes I think there’s a void… an empty space that can never be filled.
I can't tell you its shape or what’s missing… or what will fill it…
I don't know.
Maybe it's the weariness kicking in… Most of the times I believe that it's nothing more a fiction of my imagination, a side affect of the past that forces me to believe that something is probably wrong.
They say that the human being is unsatisfied by nature… maybe this is what it is.
Even though I want for nothing… there's nothing I need
(that is except a handsome raise in my paycheck!)
Someone once said to me that only depressed people write deep and soulful things – which explains why most poets were suicidal.
Maybe that’s the reason… the reason I can't put anything together or make any sense.
I'm too content and fulfilled to say anything meaningful.
I love that I have nothing to say… that my lips are mere servants to the lyrics I'm listening to.
I miss my little brother…
I wonder if anyone I know is up at this hour… I could think of one or two…
But I don't feel like it… talking… there’s no one I would have by my side… though there are those I sorely miss… maybe i´ll chat to just one person…
I need to get out of that place… it's making me crazy.
I want to stay here… I think I’ll go upstairs
There's magic in my bed that will offer me sleep and sugar sweet dreams…
Perhaps I’ll stay a little longer…
To ponder… about…
About why some dogs are born without tales…
Why some fairytales come true…
And some don't…
And why no one writes about the ever after…
Does it matter?
At 4:28 in the morning?
No I don't feel like opening e-mails, reading blogs, snooping in facebook or hi5… I just want to stay here and keep myself company.
Just be here and awake while the rest of the world sleeps…
Shh… I'm gossiping with angels!
The song has come to an end… let me quickly rewind it… I like this song, I think I’ll download it and add it to my I-Pod.
It’ll bring me back to this moment when I listen to it on the train… sometime between Vila Nova da Rainha and Oriente…
I’ll look outside to fields of sunflowers, to the river, past the small train station where I can imagine people dressed in olden day’s clothing, their Sunday best to catch the train to… to somewhere far! To visit someone special… to be with that person.
I’ll hear this song and remember how I feel right now…
I’ll stop thinking about something unimportant, take a deep breath and Smile.
Because I'm aloud to stop as long as I want to... even when the world is spinning at a breathless Speed.
I’ll probably give him a kiss… because I can.
And I’ll feel… something special.
Enough of this… there’s a warm body waiting to pull me close, a sigh of satisfaction to be heard and a kiss to be planted somewhere in my curly mass of hair.
The Gods must be crazy… and I like it that way.
5am.

7 comments:

Clairvoyant said...

Curiously enough I spotted you online. I thought that something must had been wrong , or the muse had to be upon you.

I've stopped asking tough questions over life and it's devious designations. Screw the lot of those buggers, I just want to get along with my life. If you think that it's selfish of me, you're damn right it is. Everyone else does it, and I'm no different.

I may lay a helping hand to a friend, but I'm the first one on the list. Since you seen to be somewhat religious, a phrase to go with it: "the Lord helps those that help themselves".

As for the dreaded poets, it might be true. Sad people writing to sadder people than themselves. Those are the only ones who seem to need reading about bigger miseries so theirs don't look so bad. I believe you're better off the way you are now.

By the way, of course the Gods are crazy. And humorous too. How else would you explain the faces and the noises humans make while having sex?

Lot's of wild things bang your imagination as you stay awake at night, so it would seem. Me... I just pick a boring TV channel and wait to start drooling over myself before I head back to bed. Right now, nights to me are no more than a necessary separation of my days. I must confess it feels good to sleep, but it also still feels like a waste of my time. I guess I'm still adjusting to my human limitations.

Hope you have better nights from now on, but if that's what it takes to get you writing, long live insomnias... for you at least.

fieryfairy said...

When recently I went through something similar (not the insomnia but the feeling that I had nothing to say and share), I just recognised it for what it was: a phase. So I read incessantly and took long walks and forgot all about it, until I felt a bit clearer and lighter, and then I could put the words of the 'dictionary of my mind' in order and make sentences and paragraphs and pages. Listen to your song and don't worry.x

Paulo said...

Musica e cinema....
sou noctivago... já o disse num post que escrevi.. não vivo no tempo do comum...
deitar-me para mim significa ás vezes dar uma ducha e mudar de roupa....
Uso esse tempo para pensar, reflectir (ultimamente trabalhar...) normalmente acompanhado de musica e no fim da noite (nio meu horario entenda-se) vejo sempre um filme! Por vezes escrevo , ou melhor, gatafunho na minha imaginação contos , estórias, poemas... que talvez um dia tenha coragem para publicar ou não...
Estive a ler teu texto....tambem há dias assim....

Um beijo

Paulo

PAULO SANTOS said...

uma coisa... Fui eu que pus o comment em cima. Não sei porque aparece apenas Paulo!
E por onde andas?? aguardo tua visita no interior e obviamente por novos textos teus!
mil beijos

Klatuu o embuçado said...

NãO tens remédio mesmo... Não gosto de te saber triste.

Beijinho.

Merchi said...

... left you a treat on my blog ... check it out ;-)

Soph!a ღ said...

Tenho uma surpresa para ti no meu blog...:P

Jinhos