My Familiar

Many a sleepless nights have passed since the luna had began to wax. I have already lost count of the number of times that I lie awake at night, staring blankly at the ceiling above. with the slow whirring of the fan in the background. I know that I should be sleeping soundly, for I am deadbeat. Both physically and mentally.

At times, physical exhaustion threatens to overtake me, but I managed to keep it at bay so far. Perhaps now, it has become a game of who would emerge victorious. I have nothing to lose. Some days, at the crack of dawn, I am still awake, lying there, fully conscious. I know that this is common, for some mortals are nocturnal too. But the problem is I wake early too. Few are the days that I have slept past noon already. Sleep. It is becoming a foreign word to me.

Perhaps it has to do with life. I never know that food, however wonderful and delicious it may be, could possess the ability to lose its colour and taste. Whatever I consume now doesn't really matter.

It seems like there is a black hole somewhere, sucking in everything, as if this landscape has lost its colour. What happened? Since when has it become monochrome again? Perhaps this may all be for the best. In darkness, one finds comfort again. This familiar embrace of hers, so cold and unfeeling to the touch.

"Welcome back my child..."