Journal entry

4:15 AM

It began as another sleepless dawn. The edges of my room shimmered like the surface of a dream half-remembered. I’d been awake for hours — maybe days — I couldn’t tell anymore. The line between the waking world and whatever followed had thinned, and through that tear, something luminous seeped in. The floor rippled with reflections of clouds and sunlight, as if the sea had risen quietly in the night to swallow my room whole. Books floated like little rafts of memory; a chair drifted near the window where the sky met the water. Everything familiar had become untethered. I wasn’t afraid. For once, my insomnia didn’t feel like a curse but a doorway. I stood at the edge of my unmade bed and felt the room breathe — inhaling dreams, exhaling daylight. Perhaps this was what my sleeplessness was trying to show me all along: that between exhaustion and imagination lies a sea only the restless ever see.