It’s going to be yet again another sleepless night.

The pillowcase wet with tears I’ve shed, the pillow twisted from banging my head into it. The thread count in the sheets altered by claw marks and tugging. The blanket mangled from wrapping it around me, attempting to create tight deep pressure across large areas of my body to calm myself down.

I hate confrontation. I hate fighting. I hate not knowing, left to make assumptions and guess, and I hate not understanding. I hate the dark. I deeply hate the jumble of thoughts running through my head like the street is on fire and it’s raining gasoline. I deeply hate being misunderstood and not knowing how to be clear. I don’t know the right words to say to get these feelings out of my body, to have them leave me alone, to get my point across. To rest my mind, even for a moment; and I am so tired.

I hate being overwhelmed with sadness – the kind that only being wrapped up in someone’s arms can alleviate, the kind where the tears and the gasping for breath can say all I can, the kind where a whispered reminder that it’ll be alright, that it’ll pass, that it can all be fixed with a common ground. A reminder that a common ground can be found, built, remodeled, strengthened.

I can’t keep watching it all get torn down, again and again, and rummage blindly in the shambles alone, trying to find a key that is being hidden from me. The splinters make my fingers hurt, the cinder makes my knees bleed. The worry eating me from the inside out. I can’t keep digging for this key alone, to be pushed back into the soot that will coat my lungs with fear and agony. The joy that would overwhelm me to see all of this washed away by the rain, a few wheelbarrows of faith and trust, a pushbroom with bristles of raw honesty… that joy would be a miracle sleep aid.

Oh, to dream of peace, blanketed in security, wrapped up with you in sheets with thread made of hope, and held by unfiltered love. Oh, to dream.


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