Thursday, December 15, 2011

My bed has never been so strange until I entered my room a while ago. The smell is so strange, the air around is not what it used to be. Or maybe I just grew fond of the smell of the hospital corridors, the comforting silence, and the occasional clacking of nurses' shoes against the tiled floor.

It was around midnight, when I went out for a smoke, there was a cat by the fire exit door. It stared at me. Or maybe it was I who stared and I just thought it stared back. I have a habit of somehow believing that I would receive what I give and I should get rid of it. It does me no good. I was right from the start: not to trust people and let them in. At some point I just wished myself wrong.

A cold breeze blew against my face and the cat galloped carelessly when I opened the fire exit door. Familiar thoughts of jumping off, mockery of the landscape, Doogie Howser M.D, black and white movies, sleep and a lot of trivial things came in too fast inside my head. I couldn't keep up. I was tired. I am tired. And right now, my bed is not as welcoming.

But I shall not sleep. Though I love sleep that much. It's the most comforting and most effective escape. Sleep is just like death - without the commitment.

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