Insomnia

Fireflies danced around to a variation of miscellaneous symphonies so beautifully played by the wind trickling raindrops against her pane. This sweet percussion was so delightfully engaged with the howling sounds of a hundred violins performing melodies of madness. Each light has her mesmerized with eyes wide open. Her eyes follow the slender foxtrots lighting the corners of the concrete walls that hold her captive. Right through the glamorous show of shimmering lights, one burning bulb flutters and blinks across, in a failing endeavor to escape. She carefully analyzes the way this struggling glow of radiance might be picturing what it could feel like to shine as bright as the others. What has caused this light to fade? What has brought the energy ever growing inside to leap forth into darkness? No, it has not perished. Energy never fades. Yet the form it has taken is yet to be unearthed. What face does it hide behind; what faith is it that makes what it believes to be so absolute? Lost in thought as she could relate, maybe radiance is just not of her value. Maybe all she has built is but a hut next to mansions. Or is it possible that all the radiance she retains is trapped in this skin of a person she has so engulfed herself inside? And what of the past? This ever so lingering compendium of intensity. She was suddenly entranced by memories that were constantly elevating over sorrows ignited by the guilt of desperate decisions, and continuously maneuvering through those modest little delights held together by the magic of divine moments. The bedrocks on which she stands still struggle to anchor the burden of this imperceptible plague that is constantly pushing its way through her veins, and devouring what is left of her psyche. She is but a wanderer in this jungle. She is but a nameless stranger.