sleepless - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
With you no longer here, sleep becomes a fleeting chore. I wrestle at nights with the dark and the light trying to find comfort from either side but most times I lose the fight. I have become content with my sleepless nights where I find comfort in my thoughts and memories of the past.
Things seem clearer but only for a while as I fight to take control of the lethargy that creeps up and create night time horror during my sleepless hours.
The dark consumes but sleep still eludes, it appears it has divorced itself from me. I’m sleepless at a time, when rest is all I need to refuel me to make it through one more day without thee.
Sleepless, how unfortunate
Amy pulled up her duvet and rolled toward the darker side of the room. The blinds shut out most of the summer evening sun, but still on the opposite wall there were rectangles of light projecting from the gaps. She watched them turn from the natural white to the artificial yellow glow of the streetlamp. She tossed from one side to the other, her bed that had been so careful made became a tangle of covers. For spells she would close her eyes and be conscious of breathing slowly, rhythmically. She considered the sleeping pills the doctor had prescribed. They worked well alright, but last time she had been groggy the next day and her mouth had tasted of metal. The night wore on, thoughts tumbled through her mind in rapid succession. Problems she had already solved reemerged for another examination. Things she mustn't forget for the next day nagged at her. After a tortured eternity the room began to get lighter and the birds chirped, she threw back the covers and stumbled out. Sleepless.
I tossed and turned but just couldn't find the right position. A lingering haze of sleep sat somewhere at the back of my mind but was too far away to reach, floating in the pool of my memories. Icy discomfort blossomed in my chest and made it difficult for me to breathe. Trying to make myself fall into slumber, I took as deep breaths as I could, but many just caught in my throat, like an icy wind had blown down there and managed to freeze the air solid. At that moment, I knew this was going to be a long night.
Today I won't sleep again. It's hard, so hard to stay in my room. But she always told me to stay back from the fight. When I was little, I didn't understand why, but now I really do. And it hurts me like no other thing in the world. More than when he goes after me when he's finished with her. Tonight is one of the many sleepless nights I've spent since I can remember. The monster I once called father is blaming her for everything wrong with his own life. She doesn't say a word. Same old story. Tomorrow she'll have another scar. As always.
I can't take this anymore. I bite my lips so hard they start to bleed, trying to block out the shouts with the pillow on my ears, but nothing helps. The fear paralyzes me. I hate myself for not being able to stop him. But what can I do? Nothing will change if she doesn't fight it. And I can't escape. Because the thought of leaving her alone with him sickens me to the point of almost puking. So I guess all I can do is spend another sleepless night.
I didn't understand it, the pillows were fluffed, the temperature in the room was perfect, even my favourite night light was on but no matter how hard I tried, I just couldn't get to sleep. My eyes were open like the entrance to a tunnel. I kept on staring at the bare ceiling. Walking to the kitchen, I heated a cup of milk and added a pinch of cinnamon to it. With that. I walked out to the patio, lit the lights on the porch and sat down. It was one of those quiet and pleasant nights, when you can hear nature's symphony, the crickets chirping away. It had always puzzled me, how you could hear these creatures, but could rarely see them, I believed that this was so that we could appreciate the music that they produced. Finishing the last few drops of the creamy, frothy liquid, I slipped on my fluffy carpet slippers, left the cup on the counter and scurried back to bed. My insomnia had not worn off yet, so I tossed and turned until finally, the God of slumber, Hypnos had blessed me...
Eyes that won't close. A heart that won't stop its beating. The dark space is endless in this spaceless prison. I wish to drift away into a never ending dream, but dreams are only a memory in this hell of reality. I simply wish to sleep.
i lay still in my soft bed under the comfy duvets, gazing up at the glowing ceiling. Even though, i was in my comfort zone i could not sleep. I was clouded in my thoughts about what had happened today. Everything i tried to get to sleep didnt work. I took some sleeping pills that drifted me off to sleep but i woke up screaming half an hour after. i tried to forget everything but it was no use. crying myself to sleep didnt work. It looked like i was going to have a sleepless night, once again like the time when mum died from an overdose.
He was awake a long time in the dark--for two hours, thinking and not thinking, in that barren state which is not sleep, nor yet full wakefulness, and which is a painful strain.
In the inkiness my mind supplies demons real and fictitious. It reminds me of deadlines both near and distant, demanding that I slice the time between now and then ever thinner to apportion hours and minutes to each mind-numbing task. I don't want to go over this all again. I wrote a list in my planner, I have alerts from my phone, yet somehow all that isn't enough. I lay down three hours ago after a lavender bath and warm milk, I played classical flute music and lit candles. Now they are all burnt to stubs and if the CD repeats again I think I will snap. It's time to get up. If I can't sleep I should work, maybe then my brain will permit me to rest.
The world outside teases me with its silence; everyone and everything sleeps, save the bears and the owls. Time is marked only by the numbers changing on my bedside alarm. It was long ago that the last of the daylight left my bedroom and it will be hours before it creeps back again. I can only hope that in the meantime I am not aware of every second of every minute. My mind is constantly regurgitating the worries of the day, the worries of tomorrow, the worries of yesteryear. Yet I have no new or brilliant solutions to offer, I can only do what I have always done- take each day as it comes.
From the carousel of random ideas comes some order - a subtle awareness of who I am under the flow of thoughts with their loose connections to my waking life. After a few moments more I begin to analyze them in a lazy way, perhaps these ideas are meant to be kept. Some are composed as if from a book I once read, some are just silly. In another moment they are gone leaving no trace. If they are still in my head there is no bread crumb trail back to them. My eyelids flicker open to the unlit room. No daylight. I close them again, willing the carousel to return, for my mind to tumble back to dreams, but it won't. Now the tasks of the day are demanding I think about them, find solutions, get jobs done by day's end. I am awake and there is no retreat. I steal a glance at the pointless alarm clock, glowing red, and reach out to turn off the buzzer. Once 6:30am was a rude awakening, now it is an impossible target. It would take at least a week of vacation to get there...