Half Past Four
well, it looks like it's going to be another sleepless night
4:32 AM.
It was late. That was what she told herself.
Her brain had whirred to life the moment her eyes fluttered open a couple of minutes ago. Similar to a highway in California, different trains of thought trundled through her mind, alive at this hour, with no intentions of stopping. Although the metropolis located inside her head was bustling with activity, it was unrelenting in its constant attack to remind her that she was alone. At first she thought it was the lack of shut-eye, that it was just insomnia at its best. She was just sleep-deprived from stress she got from work and the abnormal amount of caffeine she drank everyday to fuel the flurry of activities she had set for the week.
Shifting to her side, she stared at the ticking clock on the wall, counting the seconds that passed by slowly. Soon enough though, she realized she was wrong. It was never insomnia nor was it narcolepsy. It was beyond the boogeyman or the monsters under her bed. She lusted after companionship. But it was more than that, she understood; it was something that couldn't be controlled, no matter how many colored pills you take. It was the omnipresence of loneliness that latched unto her skin, haunting her.
It was like a mythical creature that haunted villages, demanding human sacrifices to appease its greed and hunger, to put it lightly. It gnawed on her insides, growing each time it feasted upon every emotion she felt. It craved the attention, relished in despair and reveled in suffering. Sometimes, it talked to her, whispering in her ears things only her greatest fears could ever hope to conjure. It echoed, reverberated throughout her body and now, it was slowly squeezing out the life circulating her veins and swallowing every ounce of hope she happened to have. It wasn't going to stop until she was merely an empty carcass, a broken shell, utterly alone in mind, soul, body and heart.
She tried to bury herself in the sheets wrapped around her willowy frame in an effort to feel a semblance to human warmth. She didn't want to wake up in the ungodly hours of the morning reaching for somebody who wasn't there anymore. This fickle heart of hers ached for her counterpart. The bleak effects of solitude were bearable at first but now, it was forming an unending chasm that isolated her from the rest of the world. Curling into a ball, she asked for something she couldn't have: warm hands to intertwine hers with in this cool night. As if sensing her restlessness, cold fingertips ran down her spine, around her shoulders, down her arms, until it wrapped its bony, lifeless arms around her, settling for a bitter embrace.
It was late. That was what she told herself.
Her brain had whirred to life the moment her eyes fluttered open a couple of minutes ago. Similar to a highway in California, different trains of thought trundled through her mind, alive at this hour, with no intentions of stopping. Although the metropolis located inside her head was bustling with activity, it was unrelenting in its constant attack to remind her that she was alone. At first she thought it was the lack of shut-eye, that it was just insomnia at its best. She was just sleep-deprived from stress she got from work and the abnormal amount of caffeine she drank everyday to fuel the flurry of activities she had set for the week.
Shifting to her side, she stared at the ticking clock on the wall, counting the seconds that passed by slowly. Soon enough though, she realized she was wrong. It was never insomnia nor was it narcolepsy. It was beyond the boogeyman or the monsters under her bed. She lusted after companionship. But it was more than that, she understood; it was something that couldn't be controlled, no matter how many colored pills you take. It was the omnipresence of loneliness that latched unto her skin, haunting her.
It was like a mythical creature that haunted villages, demanding human sacrifices to appease its greed and hunger, to put it lightly. It gnawed on her insides, growing each time it feasted upon every emotion she felt. It craved the attention, relished in despair and reveled in suffering. Sometimes, it talked to her, whispering in her ears things only her greatest fears could ever hope to conjure. It echoed, reverberated throughout her body and now, it was slowly squeezing out the life circulating her veins and swallowing every ounce of hope she happened to have. It wasn't going to stop until she was merely an empty carcass, a broken shell, utterly alone in mind, soul, body and heart.
She tried to bury herself in the sheets wrapped around her willowy frame in an effort to feel a semblance to human warmth. She didn't want to wake up in the ungodly hours of the morning reaching for somebody who wasn't there anymore. This fickle heart of hers ached for her counterpart. The bleak effects of solitude were bearable at first but now, it was forming an unending chasm that isolated her from the rest of the world. Curling into a ball, she asked for something she couldn't have: warm hands to intertwine hers with in this cool night. As if sensing her restlessness, cold fingertips ran down her spine, around her shoulders, down her arms, until it wrapped its bony, lifeless arms around her, settling for a bitter embrace.