sleepless nights (1)
them, in the mirrors
Life is like a turbulent logarithmic ride.
Its turns and loops change constantly and without warning.
In the highs, first of all, you feel invisible wings sprouting from your back. Life becomes, in your eyes, a game whose rules are obviously rigged: so what’s the point of sticking to them? What’s the point of struggling, shouting yourself hoarse, or pushing yourself too hard? You only live once, after all, so you might as well have fun, without worrying about tomorrow. The world won’t run any smoother tomorrow. That’s where the Child of Daylight has the most room to be. He isn’t afraid to climb onto swings that are still moving. He isn’t afraid of the wind, the tide, or jumping at the highest point of the swing’s arc: he won’t be there to suffer the consequences of gravity’s pull.
The descent is treacherous, and despite all this time, its signs still often manage to elude you. Sometimes it takes the form of a sudden search for meaning amid that nameless jumble of emotions and thoughts that, without your realizing it, expand and twist through the furrows of your mind. Other times, it’s a simple contemplation of the world, of its workings that you’ll never understand. A desperate attempt to mold yourself to its expectations as if, this time, it were the right one. Maybe you haven’t tried hard enough, after all. Should the thousandth time be the charm? Please, let it be. This is the “None” phase. One of those in-between moments of near-constant emptiness where the struggle against yourself begins silently. The None is a blank canvas, desperate to finally be etched with a pencil stroke—often a poorly placed one.
Then comes the low point, when you’ve sunk deep enough into the spiral to realize you’re approaching its heart. Even though it doesn’t exist. You always realize it too late: when sleep abandons your nights, replaced by anxieties, questions, and unease that twist and turn in every direction, like worms gnawing at your skull. At that point in the ride, inertia has taken over, and the sky seems so far away that you notice it less and less. As if a kind of mist were settling over your eyes, thick and constant. You know it’s there, and you can tell yourself over and over that it will eventually pass, just as it always does, but it only seems to make it stronger. Then comes the hour of the Kid of Midnight. He, feels the return of gravity. The consequences of the highs, the unanswered questions of the descent, and the relentless fall into oblivion.
Sleepless nights herald the midnight child.
