Literature is awash with insomniac and neurotic heroes and characters. In both popular and literary fiction, we come across these unfortunate characters, battling for sleep. In reality too, if fiction is not real, there are endless numbers given in to this affliction.
Insomnia is one of those misfortunes we seldom get to complain about. We fret and fume about other heartaches, but get tight lipped when confronting it. It seems a shameful and dark secret, an embarrassing wound, a curse, an unrequited affection.
Insomnia is a dark world, a desperate world, a furious one. Herein lies the essence of everything...parallel lives, the stream of consciousness, imagery, poetry, philosophy, you name it. It starts with an image and one seems seemingly in control. and then.....there is a revivification of memories, thoughts, words, images and thoughts. Thoughts start racing, memory swings on that swing, oh, what trouble the heart is!
One asks for mercy, for a hundred pardons from Hypnos, to cut this cord from days and thinking and let the Oneiroi take over. One would surely not mind death from that baneful misery of life then.
Yet, sometimes, the merciless, relentless march of the clocks goes on and on. There is no stopping this awkward prolixity of time, this dull tom tom of the heart.
Day light, enemy and foe now, breaks in. These are terminal times now, surely there will be some release? The aching eyes, tired eyelashes, unforgiving hands, oh this tireless heart, must give in now. And as the day progresses again, as it always does, it brings on night.
But these are scary nights, because they bring in the relentless confetti of the sky, bright black, bright blue spread of your nights, your eyes, your shimmering voice, the aching mist in your eyes, the unsaid words on your lips.
My silence, your silence, my insomnia and your silence.