Start with a wooden cross right above the wall. A miniature figurine of Jesus portraying agony as it looks down upon me. I used to say a prayer before I put myself to the warm and cozy bed. Even though it was night with the only lights coming from the distant moon and a minuscule blue dot letting me know that my phone is charging. Sleep didn't feel like a necessity, but more a commodity, something I longed for as it felt beneficial to rest. But I am now older therefore I am wiser. My thoughts escape my mind as pieces to a puzzle that is too complicated to solve. This puzzle worries me. Outside, the wind has picked up again and I hear the slow pull of the chains lifting the garage door. More questions. I got a notification, the phone is finally charged. There are no answers and I'm expected to have faith. I want to. I have a mysterious, almost a magical brain; how am I expected not to question? It works day and night constantly theorizing analogous to a computer, but where is my programmer? I cannot live my one life this way. I long for answers to my questions. The brain constantly thinks, so much that the longer I think the more I make my own predictions. Predictions that confuse me even more. Tonight I'll go to bed and I'll look up at the 60 year old cross passed down by my grandmother in Poland and my head will pound as if my own will is telling me to stop. Reminiscing thoughts buzz in my head portraying my grandmother with a piercing glare as she handed me the cross telling me that now it's my turn to try and figure out what this means. It's so cold as I climb in bed. I don't even want to go to sleep. What a waste of my life. I contemplate my prayer and instead close my eyes and hope for answers in the morning. But false hope is my reality as it's just another piece to an impossible puzzle.