• Its 3.43am

And I’m awake.

I can hear the wind and rain,

My husband’s gentle breathing, and

The soothing music played all night,

To ease my tinnitus.

And I can hear my tinnitus itself

A roaring, gushing hiss of noise.

My stomach growls.

‘Is it breakfast time yet?’

Legs ache.

Arms itch.

Body demands I wriggle

into a more comfortable spot.

But what is comfort?

And what is it not?

The wind makes the leaves on the trees rustle.

My husband sleeps.

I write and think

And try and will and wish

That daydreams would become night dreams.

Itch.

Wriggle.

Shake pins and needles from fingers.

Stretch.

Yawn.

Listen.

Ask,

‘Will I sleep?’

Oh for a gold coin for every time I ask myself that question!

I would be a wealthy man.

‘Is it breakfast time yet?’

No.

‘Is anyone else awake?’

No.

‘Can I sleep yet?’

No.

‘Can I get up?’

No.

‘Am I tired?’

My word, yes. Exhausted.

But also achy and itchy

And with a head full of racing thoughts

And an empty stomach.

Its 3.59am

Lets try again.

 

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