His phone sat on the charger, a glowing siren. He knew that if he picked it up, the blue light would finish off whatever remained of his melatonin, but the temptation was a physical ache. He reached out, his fingers hovering inches from the screen.
He sighed, his eyes burning and heavy, and realized the cruelest joke of all: now that the sun was up, he was finally starting to feel a little bit drowsy. 1. I Can't Go To Sleep
He tried the breathing exercises. In for four, hold for seven, out for eight. By the third round, he wasn't relaxed; he was just hyper-aware of how loud his own lungs were. The house, usually silent, had developed a symphony of taunts. The refrigerator hummed a low, mocking drone. A floorboard in the hallway creaked, suggesting a ghost that was also, presumably, suffering from insomnia. His phone sat on the charger, a glowing siren
Did I really tell that barista ‘you too’ when she said to enjoy my coffee? he wondered. The memory burned with fresh intensity. He sighed, his eyes burning and heavy, and
He shifted his weight, the cotton sheets feeling like sandpaper against his skin. Every fold in the fabric was a mountain range, every stray thread a needle. He closed his eyes, determined to force the darkness into a dream, but his brain had other plans. It was currently busy cataloging every awkward thing he had said since the third grade.
If he checked the time again, it would be 4:00 AM. And if it was 4:00 AM, he had already lost.
He pulled his hand back and tucked it under the covers. He decided to play a game: he would imagine building a house, brick by brick, board by board. He started with the foundation. He poured the concrete. He laid the first row of bricks.