It’s funny how the night seems endless when you’re lying awake, yet morning comes too soon. Sleep and I haven’t been on good terms lately. It’s not for the lack of trying- I’ve closed my eyes, quieted my thoughts, and even played those “soothing ocean wave” sounds on my phone. But no matter what I do, rest feels just out of reach.
Now, the days blur together in a haze of yawns and half-finished thoughts. My body moves on autopilot, but my mind feels like it’s wading through quicksand. Conversations slip away mid-sentence, and even the simplest tasks seem monumental.
Still, there’s something strangely poetic about these sleepless hours. The world is so quiet at 3 a.m., like it’s holding it’s breath. My thoughts are loudest then- sometimes they spiral, but other times they find clarity. Maybe it’s exhaustion lowering my defenses, or maybe it’s just the rawness of the hour.
I know this can’t go on forever, eventually, sleep will catch me, and I’ll wake up feeling whole again. But until then, I’m learning to find beauty in the stillness of the sleepless nights and the blurry softness of the days that follow.