In the quiet hours, when shadows merge with the dark,
I find myself a solitary figure, wrestling with the silence,
Exhausted, yet my mind races—
a marathon with no finish line,
an ocean endlessly churning,
waves crashing against the shore of my consciousness.

Sleep, that soft, elusive creature,
flits around the edges of my exhaustion,
a whisper in the night that I cannot grasp.
I yearn for rest, for the sweet oblivion of dreams,
yet I resist, fearing the surrender,
the loss of control over a mind that refuses to be tamed.

The night stretches on, an infinite canvas,
painted with thoughts, worries, ideas,
a kaleidoscope of emotions that refuse to be silenced.
Each moment is a paradox,
a battle between the desire to let go
and the relentless urge to hold on,
to remain in this twilight state of awareness,
where everything is magnified, more real and yet untouchable.

I am tethered to this world by threads of thought,
each one a reason to stay awake,
to postpone the encounter with the nothingness that sleep promises.
In the depth of night, I am both more and less than myself,
a ghost haunting the spaces between seconds,
searching for something I cannot name,
fearing that in sleep, I will lose the essence of what keeps me here, in this moment.

So I remain, a sentinel in the quiet,
guarding the gate between consciousness and oblivion,
exhausted yet unwilling to close my eyes,
to drift away from this place of half-existence.
I am caught in the liminal, the space between,
where sleep is both a savior and a thief,
and I am too tired to choose, yet too stubborn to surrender.

In this realm of shadows and half-light,
I find a strange peace in the turmoil,
a comfort in the discomfort of being awake,
exhausted but alive,
feeling everything and nothing,
until the first light of dawn whispers the promise of a new day,
and I wonder if tonight, I will finally sleep.