Hands On Hips, Staring Into Space.

Some nights like this one, I cannot bring myself to sleep. Although it’s not because I am waiting for the propeller in my head to stop churning out these thoughts for my mind to imagine, but just because I am tired of this house.

I have been speaking about moving. In fact, I have already told every of my friends that by now I am beginning to suspect that they probably think I am silently asking them to assist me with moving. But it’s this house. Nights on this bed are becoming somewhat overbearing.

The air that I breathe, it feels like I am recycling air from the previous night. And so, I lay down straight and inhale slowly. I put my hand beside my body and stretch my legs like an unmoving corpse. I lie so still that I can hear the oscillation of the fan in the sitting room.

I close my eyes and imagine the mosquitoes as planes. I wonder what country they’re flying from or which continent they're headed. Europe is somewhere around my feet because I wear socks when I sleep and my trouser, no matter how long it is doesn't appreciate the warmth of the socks. The places around my head is Africa. I never let them close to Africa.

I stay like this and think for a while, until sleep begins to call my mind and it slowly starts to rebel. Reality quickly starts fading and dreams begin to take the place of my memories. I don’t fight it any longer. I yawn quietly, grateful that sleep has found me at last.

One thought that constantly swirls in my head is the thought of my lover. My favorite person. A four letter worded name from nine that means the world to me.