today.
the time is 2am.
i sit propped up in bed with a pen in one hand and my notebook in the other. i'm staring at my blank page.
i want to fall into my bed. i want my head to touch my pillow and fall asleep.
instead. i reflect. i turn back through the pages of the past year and imagine how things were. i think the reason i don't sleep is that my imagination is too vivid and the picture it paints is more enticing than sleep.
i am just a bundle of musings. i dream too much when i'm awake.
i long to tell my stories. to write and write and share the experiences.
yet. i'm drawn inwards.
lost in my sea of faces.
dreaming so vividly i can make it feel real.
there's a hand mussing my hair, holding the back of my neck. a ghost.
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