This is the worst time to have insomnia. The darkness encompasses me, and I’m left to make acquaintance with whatever or whoever my mind manages to conjure up in the absence of distraction; whether it be evil creatures or passing ghosts, my thoughts leave me no choice but to welcome them. My midnight thoughts are the only things that give me company when one of my late night death fantasies rears its head. Sometimes the visions are comforting, other times, I’d rather be left without conscious thought for a while. Each time the numbers change on the digital clock, one of my imaginary friends disappears and is replaced by a new companion. But, though they seem to blend in to the walls and ceilings, maybe they aren’t so imaginary. Their whispers echo through the emptiness and fill my ears with sweet words of meaningless comfort. I don’t want them to be imaginary. Every time I accept the unlikeliness of having someone by my side, their wisps of existence pull me back into their trance. Why should I let them go?
They’re mine, and they’re all I have.
My imagination is all I have.
I am all I have.