Insomnia, when nights
stretch out to become infinite moments. And nights for her were similar,
undying. She’d sit there, in the same spot, night after night; filling sheet
after sheet of unappealing white with words that poured out from the depths of
her mind. Breaking complex thoughts into simpler words and shaping meek
opinions into pretentious ones. Quite a sight she was, if someone could see her
in that hour of the night; bend over a notebook by the glow of a bedside lamp,
hair hanging in loose strands all around her face, hands scribbling furiously
as if time wasn't enough to pen all her contemplation on paper and an ever
present cup of coffee going cold beside her. All she could do was write before
the dawn broke, ignoring everything; the hush around her always sustaining, the
occasional shot of pain in her head and incredulous bearing of hours as they
passed; all too soon.
As the first of the
lights appeared the stars still in presence, she looked up, skeptical, as if
the time had passed away in a blur. She sighed in disbelieve as people begin to
stir, putting an end to her peaceful ruminating.
-Momina.