Why won’t they let me be? I just need to rest, that’s all, to rest and sleep some, and maybe die a little.
If I had an .MP3 of your heartbeat… I might actually get some sleep.
I’ve had enough of these streets that sweat a cold, yellow slime, of hostile people, of crying myself to sleep every night. I’ve had enough of thinking, enough of remembering.
Jim looks out the car window with his nose pressed to the glass. Sometimes he pretends to be asleep. Not because he is tired, but because he needs to be quiet.
A few nights later, I secretly hope that I might be a genius. Why else can no amount of sleeping pills fell my brain? But in the morning my daughter asks me what a cloud is and I cannot say.
Oh, Man in the Moon”
“Oh, man in the moon, send an evening star to wink at my dreary eyes, and I shall make a wish for a peaceful world that spins with no more lies.
Oh, man in the moon, send the night’s cool breeze to lull my leery heart, and I shall cast my fears to the wind with ease, and watch them all depart.
Oh, man in the moon, send the sandman’s dust to rest my weary soul, and I shall slumber in happy dreams until the morning bells do toll.
she ran away in her sleep and dreamed of paradise
And I feel like a real Dad when I read to her at night. She won’t sleep without one story, at least.
It doesn’t matter, the important thing is to fall asleep caressing the charm of an image. Because the last thing you think of before falling asleep must always be the most beautiful.