Restless Waves

Written by Michael Craig

I fall. From the edge of comfort, my ever late insomnia trips on my euphoria, hitting the back of my neck, down I tumble into the stomach acid of my bunk.

Heaving awake, I pull myself free. The sleep grips to my spine. Like thick mud to a corpse, each strand snaps apart, one, by one, the further I pull, and harder I push. Breaking free, I pierce through the gloom and stare into red eyes.

They stare back. Silently screaming: 3:17 AM

Stuck. I’m always stuck. Rolling onto my back, I peel the sheets from my skin. I throw the covers into the air and flip them. Soaking under the cool sheets, they quickly come to boil and I’m left wide awake once again. My mind, full of static, unable to stop thinking. Overflowing with moments never to happen, conversations never to be and people never to meet. I try, with the energy I have left, to squeeze those thoughts from my mind. But my stomach drops as the only movement left inside, is dread. Dread of morning. I throw my head back in frustration. If I can get to sleep, I tell myself, if I can get to sleep right now, I’ll have more than enough time to finish the work.

I close my eyes and hope.

But slumber passes my door. Once again I’m stuck between lucidity and relief.

Laying in the darkness, I hear the murmurs of passing cars, the buzz of my clock and the drip of a tap. Hard, metallic, water, tap, tap, tap. I decide that getting a drink may help me relax. But as I lift myself up, my legs avoid me. As if an awkward Ex at a mundane, packed, predictable house party — they want nothing to do with me. The music drips down my spine and all I want is relief. So I wander through the heat of the party, the clinking glasses, tapping feet and I am surrounded. Surrounded by nothing but eyes never to meet, voices never to dance in partner, and thoughts destined to slip unnoticed to the floor. I am surrounded by opportunities I never grasp, for fear the others will fade. But in those rare moments, when I take that leap, I always fail to find my footing. Each leap of faith is matched by endless drops.

So to avoid the pain, I stumble into the garden and let my mind lay back. As I stare at the stars in the night, feel the cool breeze on my face and sigh. I wonder why the comforts that wrap around me are those I’ve never had.

The music follows me, it cascades down the steps — washes away the dirt that clings to the pavement, laps at my feet and swallows them whole. I enjoy it, so I stay. But the sun rises and the nights pass, the people come and the people go. The world moves on and I watch. I am nothing but a Lighthouse. Selfishly dreaming of those I’m yet to meet; desperate to look the right way, to be what they want, to carry them far. Yet I’m always too late, too wrong or not right. And now I’m scared. Too scared to look down. Because I know, I know, that at my feet lay the wrecks of my failure, anchoring me in place for eternity.

Yanking my chest upward, crashing into the rocks, my head floats on my shoulders, awash with sweat. I turn to my right, and without mercy it taunts — 4:02 AM. I am thrown to my seat. Forced to watch the silhouettes dance on my walls until the rolling sun drowns them to sleep.

My future is just the reel of a forgotten film, that plays over and over to an empty theater. The same few bright, faded scenes, repeating eternal.

The days are lost to me, the days were bright, but the days keep passing. Now the nights that overflowed with flying, are drowning in doubts of falling.