*chirrup*

I'm not sure if the crickets moved in last night, or if this was just the first time I noticed them. I think that they must have always been there, but in my drug induced coma I must have missed their chirping.

I was pretty restless last night, hence the cricket watching. The small string players have long been a nighttime companion of mine. I know people who actually find the sound annoying (aka my mother) but I've always found a sort of meditative comfort in their rhythmic pulsing. It works a lot easier than counting imaginary sheep. I laid awake for a long time, restless with my thoughts. Anxiety likes to sneak up on you in the middle of the night; it likes to steal the sleep right from under your eyes. Then, even if it's kind enough to leave you alone - well, you're alone. Amongst solitude there are plenty of moments to live in, lots of conversations to be had.

It's these times of immersion in my own imagination that I talk to you. We sit here or there and hold long conversations about the past and the future, about all that's come and gone. We laugh about imaginary trips to the supermarket in search of the right words in the right moment. We dream about a thousand tomorrows laid back to back like scraps of unused paper, each awaiting us to draw our course ahead. And yet, that is where I cannot escape - this dream is a prison constructed by and for us.

How long must time be gone?

But those are just thoughts found in solitude - well, solitude among the crickets.

-d.