PerfectlyDamned's Journal
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11:43 Feb 12 2018
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Insomnia is a bastard. A beast of a bastard really. It's a bit of a cruel quasi-mental-physical dysfunction. I am trapped in an intangible replaying of memories and useless thoughts. I should be sleeping away the junk of the day and soaking up sweet nothings with a dream. Being that it is pretty much morning it's a lost cause to try and reclaim a small, teeny tiny morsel of... peace.
These silly moments always lead me down a path of dread. The wants, the ifs, the could haves paint vivid nightmares only I can't stop the momentum of falling down that rabbit hole - simply because I'm already awake. Cursed. Milch looked at me in disbelief as though I'd offended him somehow. Like the word itself didn't make sense coming from someone like me.
I'd confessed that I told him all I heard was silence. Again he'd given me that look of his. Now, explaining myself on what I'd meant would either require popcorn or the rolling of eyes. What I'd actually said was that it's silent. I hear nothing, there's no more soft roar of the presence of tomorrow in my head. I told him it's blank and this could mean a lot of things or it's all just plain rubbish.
Milch, you'll eventually stop caring.
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