Part CCCXX - where I reach out to touch someone but I can't lift my arm
i have this song stuck in my head - it's the one from the devil wears prada, when she's moping about because mr. i'm-super-hot-in-entourage-but-i-was-also-cute-back-in-the-day-in-drive me crazy is not in love with her anymore.
and all i keep hearing over and over again is
i can't sleep. i can't speak to you. i can't sleep.
and i'm sure there are dozens of better lyrics that i could have stuck in my head as i pound away on my keyboard at 4:35 in the morning, but i can't think of any.
i feel guilty listening to the same words over and over again. like a mantra, digging into my skull, reminding me, that yes, once again, i'm up at 4am instead of curled up in bed like almost everyone else.
and then i wonder what i could be doing with the time i'm not sleeping. maybe there's this whole world outside that i'm not experiencing because it's 4am and my eyes are bloodshot from tears, and my hair is flat from a long day of stress.
is there this magical dark world outside my bedroom window? if i ran downstairs like a little girl at the sight of the first snowflake would i find something miraculous? Would i get to watch faeries dancing around tree leaves, or the world waking up, like it's the first time all over again?
i think i'd like to look, but i can't seem to get there.
and so
i can't sleep. and i can't speak to you. and i can't sleep.
and i can't get out of this stupid chair.
and i can't stop writing.
and i can't stop thinking that there should be more than how i'm feeling.
and i can't sleep. and i can't speak to you.
and i can't sleep.
and all i keep hearing over and over again is
i can't sleep. i can't speak to you. i can't sleep.
and i'm sure there are dozens of better lyrics that i could have stuck in my head as i pound away on my keyboard at 4:35 in the morning, but i can't think of any.
i feel guilty listening to the same words over and over again. like a mantra, digging into my skull, reminding me, that yes, once again, i'm up at 4am instead of curled up in bed like almost everyone else.
and then i wonder what i could be doing with the time i'm not sleeping. maybe there's this whole world outside that i'm not experiencing because it's 4am and my eyes are bloodshot from tears, and my hair is flat from a long day of stress.
is there this magical dark world outside my bedroom window? if i ran downstairs like a little girl at the sight of the first snowflake would i find something miraculous? Would i get to watch faeries dancing around tree leaves, or the world waking up, like it's the first time all over again?
i think i'd like to look, but i can't seem to get there.
and so
i can't sleep. and i can't speak to you. and i can't sleep.
and i can't get out of this stupid chair.
and i can't stop writing.
and i can't stop thinking that there should be more than how i'm feeling.
and i can't sleep. and i can't speak to you.
and i can't sleep.