One word: Insomina, a beautiful lexicon which describes the torment that is habitual sleeplessness. Lying listlessly enveloped in sheets, night after night, going through a milder form of sleep deprivation; taking the longer route to neuroticism. Staring at the dark ceiling in complete wakefulness, contemplating god knows what. Constantly reasoning why we are awake, why we are tired yet unable to sleep. Wondering why our minds won’t shut down, repeating a lyric glued in our memory on a loop or enjoying the faint echo of nostalgia. Thinking up delightful yet ludicrous scenarios of impossible probabilities, preparing ingenious retorts for a fight that the future may anticipate. Worrying for our loved ones,fidgeting over vexatious thoughts tumbling in our minds. Losing sleep over what unforseen distress the morrow will bring. The pain of an insomniac is inexplicable. Engulfed in fatigue and fretfulness- still moving forward, still trying to make it through the day, in hope of slumber.