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JUST ANOTHER INSOMNIAC'S DIARY The silhouette mov

JUST ANOTHER INSOMNIAC'S DIARY The silhouette moves in the hide and seek, of the light and darkness. The sounds become clearer. The water of the tap. The whirling of the fan. The clinking of the windchime. Perfect rhythms, never missing a beat, they make music. I see reflections of my thoughts on pen and paper. I realize and reawaken my soul. I count my mistakes. And blessings. Often I cry over things. Rarely, I think of reality. Days are for reality. For counting gains and loses. Nights are for dreams. Dreams you see in sleep or with open eyes. Visualizations of the vivid imagination come alive. Nights are for losing oneself to ones soul. Hear it speak. Of the universe inside you. Slowly the darkness gives way to light as the stars disappear. Now I try to sleep. When the world around me is awake and abuzz. Insomnia. No wonder I love sunsets more than sunrises.
JUST ANOTHER INSOMNIAC'S DIARY The silhouette moves in the hide and seek, of the light and darkness. The sounds become clearer. The water of the tap. The whirling of the fan. The clinking of the windchime. Perfect rhythms, never missing a beat, they make music. I see reflections of my thoughts on pen and paper. I realize and reawaken my soul. I count my mistakes. And blessings. Often I cry over things. Rarely, I think of reality. Days are for reality. For counting gains and loses. Nights are for dreams. Dreams you see in sleep or with open eyes. Visualizations of the vivid imagination come alive. Nights are for losing oneself to ones soul. Hear it speak. Of the universe inside you. Slowly the darkness gives way to light as the stars disappear. Now I try to sleep. When the world around me is awake and abuzz. Insomnia. No wonder I love sunsets more than sunrises.
suranya6801

Suranya

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