I missed the stop. I closed my eyes for a minute and an hour had gone by. I couldn’t recognize the names of the subway stops anymore. The train had almost returned to where it begins working. And I have wasted time, again. I wish for life to never pass this way—with me unknowing, with me unconscious, with me wasting away with my precious time. May my eyes be kept open and my heart pump with gumption no matter the situation, no matter the condition, no matter who I am and am not.


It doesn’t matter where I sleep. It doesn’t matter if it’s cold on this couch and the blanket’s too thin and small. It doesn’t matter that I keep waking up in the middle of the night. It doesn’t matter if I keep twitching and turning and twitching again. ‘Cause what good would a decent bed make if the thoughts inside my head continue to ramble and the voices that reside within it keep echoing? What good is any bed, or the thickest blanket, or the nicest pillow if it can’t cradle this tired body into a peaceful night’s sleep?

“Resting”, Yen’s Weather Report on April 8 2014,  a Tuesday.

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