In the dead of night, Insomniacs dream of dawn. I know this to be true. I belong to this unfortunate culture, this pathetic mass of people unable to slide into that comfortable space between waking moments. I wonder how my life might be different if I slept as the rest of the world did. Would I still be as curious about life? Would I still have all the time wanted to ponder questions that no one has ever asked me? I don't think so.
Maybe it's not as true as I thought. When I lie awake at night, I only wish for the dawn because it brings a second wind with it, the resetting of my inner clock, and ability to stay awake for another day. Perhaps the insomniacs dream is not dawn. Perhaps for some the dream is that of sleep, the dream of dreams itself. For me, however, the dream is that of an end to dreams, the need to never sleep again.
Oh sweet dawn of day, come bare me away to glorious new times where the wicked never rest nor do the righteous ever sleep. Oh merciful gods come give me a cure for this wretched disease o'er which I weep. My dear deities, I yearn for thee in the dark, whilst I chase spirits from my mind, awaiting the cries of the lark. Modern amenities, please give me my sweet solace. I need not to dream if I may wake to smell the callas.
In the dead of night, the Insomniacs dream of a dawn fulfilled or a dream destroyed.
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