Lance Abbott

Chasing Shadows: An Insomniac's Lament

The night stretches out before me, an endless canvas of darkness. I am the prisoner of wakefulness, the captive of the silent hours, the insomniac. I exist in the space between sleep and consciousness, in the realm where dreams are but a distant echo. The moonlight filters through the window, casting long, spectral shadows that dance upon the walls. The silence is deafening, a symphony of quiet that rings loudly in my ears.