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.