Sleepy blues

These are tired days and nights. Insomnia and fretful dreams, winds whistling through broken seals in my windows... it's such a numbed form of pain, such a gaslight torture our minds inflict on us. I find myself looking enviously at babies asleep on the bus. Out cold. Waking up fully ready to play and soak up the world and kick and scream about everything in their tiny lives.

Still, I'm a fan of a foggy things. And there's something sensual in that blundering fog of exhaustion. I like the world shrouded in grey and blue, easy on the eye and on the mind. And those colours seem bottomless or fathomless, so that you might fall and fall. And eventually succumb to sleep after all.

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