There's comfort in the words I see. Something familiar; nostalgia it may bring. But it all's too different now, is it the silence around me pressurizing thoughts in my head to surface? A noisy bike zooms past. The humidity stains the air and lingers. My thoughts linger. Go away. I close my eyes in a bid to chase them away. Futile. More bikes zoom. The clock ticks 3:34AM. Why am I up at this time feeling wide, wide awake I wonder. The text lies in front of me, open.
Iago
I see this hath a little dashed your spirits.
Othello
Not a jot, not a jot.
I see this hath a little dashed your spirits.
Othello
Not a jot, not a jot.
I nibble on my finger. Reminded of warnings not to do so. I put it down and continue typing. Am I having insomnia? Or did I take caffeine. But I don't drink coffee. Must be insomnia. The words in the text are a blur now, I should continue in the morning. The sun shall be my alarm. Your judgment if you have formed any, errs.
My thoughts are gone, time to sleep.
