Hello Sleepy,
Very privileged you feel, right, to be tantalizing me with mega-yawns bang in the middle of the day? You are the single most cruel element I have encountered in my life, and not necessarily for my own case. Look all around and every second person complains about a lack of you, becoming reliant on drugs, medicated or otherwise, for a glimpse of you. Well, not exactly a glimpse, but a gallon of you. All my life I have heard my mother trying to teach me about the ethics of quality over quantity. In matters concerning the same, over you, she has had many a fight with her in-laws, who never it seems can have enough of you. I dwell in this in-betweenness.
I really, really love you, like everybody does, but I do not understand the hype attached to you. It is ironic that I am writing to you as I am yawning, mostly because of the effect of the Stemetils I am having. I find it disturbing, embarrassing and very, very nagging. In others, as much as in me -- the act of yawning. Everything in harmony is disrupted with that innocent gape. It is weird.
Creative and critical minds have worked on you, while clever ones have let you work on them. As I battle this insane desire to recline and drown into that realm of temporary distance from the real, I cannot help but laugh at how you must be greeting this letter. Do you yourself sleep? Will you make this letter forget the fact that it is really supposed to visit you? Will you endow a little more of you on everyone now?
Actually I can't even fight you. You are rather cuddly, especially on such lightly chilly afternoons. I long to embrace you between the softness of the blanket and the security of the pillow.
I long to be one with you,
K.
Very privileged you feel, right, to be tantalizing me with mega-yawns bang in the middle of the day? You are the single most cruel element I have encountered in my life, and not necessarily for my own case. Look all around and every second person complains about a lack of you, becoming reliant on drugs, medicated or otherwise, for a glimpse of you. Well, not exactly a glimpse, but a gallon of you. All my life I have heard my mother trying to teach me about the ethics of quality over quantity. In matters concerning the same, over you, she has had many a fight with her in-laws, who never it seems can have enough of you. I dwell in this in-betweenness.
I really, really love you, like everybody does, but I do not understand the hype attached to you. It is ironic that I am writing to you as I am yawning, mostly because of the effect of the Stemetils I am having. I find it disturbing, embarrassing and very, very nagging. In others, as much as in me -- the act of yawning. Everything in harmony is disrupted with that innocent gape. It is weird.
Creative and critical minds have worked on you, while clever ones have let you work on them. As I battle this insane desire to recline and drown into that realm of temporary distance from the real, I cannot help but laugh at how you must be greeting this letter. Do you yourself sleep? Will you make this letter forget the fact that it is really supposed to visit you? Will you endow a little more of you on everyone now?
Actually I can't even fight you. You are rather cuddly, especially on such lightly chilly afternoons. I long to embrace you between the softness of the blanket and the security of the pillow.
I long to be one with you,
K.
1 comment:
"When counting sheep on sleepless nights
fail to make me sleep
I count the stars in vaulted heights
that through my window peep
Then lullabies from up on high
brings my soul to rest
In dreams I fly across the sky
in slumber's peaceful quest"
I do not know who wrote these lines but I remembered reading sometimes back.
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