Sleeping Is My Hobby

Sleeping Is My Hobby

I’ve always wondered why nobody
ever lists sleep as their hobby.
Let’s be honest if time allows,
Most of us would trade plans for pillows
and drift away without guilt.

You chase the clock like it owes you rest,
Fight off sleep like losing’s best.
But the ones who brag about the grind
Still sink into the mattress
the second the room goes quiet.

So here I am, saying what most won’t
I like to sleep.
Not to escape
But because in a world that drains,
Sleep gives something back.

My bed is more than just a frame.
It holds me like it knows my name.
It doesn’t ask or criticize.
It simply lets my body lie.

My pillow listens, soft and still,
Catching thoughts I never will.
The blanket wraps me edge to edge
A calm that silence always pledged.

Even the couch, that tired throne,
offers peace when I'm alone.
Its cushions don’t demand a word
Just space to rest,
no lines rehearsed.

Good sleep
It does what talking can’t.
It takes the weight and unhooks the rant.
It drains the noise the day collects,
and leaves me whole,
or close to it.

I don’t need a candlelit mantra
or a life coach on speed dial.
Sometimes, eight hours of nothing
does more than a hundred apologies.

Dreams come weird, or warm, or not at all.
But even in the dark,
I wake up lighter.
I wake up.

So while the world brags about never sleeping,
I’ll keep choosing rest.
Call it lazy.
Call it healing.
But to me, sleep is sacred.

And sacred things?
They deserve time.
They deserve space.
They deserve to be named
without shame.