Trying to Sleep

I'm on my bed, staring at the ceiling.

I can't fall asleep again, and my mind is wandering. I don't know where it's going, but I know I'll let it lead me where it wants. I've always been more of a follower than a leader, anyway.

Sometimes I remember things.

Memories from my childhood pop into my head like bubbles, drifting further and further away from me with each breath I take. I want to reach out and feel them on my fingertips, but my arms fall short.

When I was little, I had a bowl with a drawing of a hen on it. I loved that small bowl. I used it for everything. The drawing was fading, and I was sad because I knew that the more I used it, the more it would fade. Even as a child, I knew that I would forget the details of that drawing. I wanted to sit down with my dad, paper and pencil crayons between us, and recreate that drawing in the bowl together. I didn't want to lose it.

I never got around to doing that. I never even asked my dad to help me.

I just stopped using the bowl, and now the drawing of the hen is half there, staring blankly ahead with one eye. The bowl is shut away in a cupboard somewhere, dust settling around its frozen shape, whispering goodbyes that I never dared say aloud.

You feel that way about a lot of possessions, don’t you?

I admit, I feel this way about people too - but I can't shut people away in cupboards forever.

Maybe this is why I have such trouble falling asleep.