Falling Asleep to My Sounds

My eyes blinked more and more, and my upper eyelid gave in to the pull of gravity. I slid my right elbow across the desk until my arm was fully resting, and the forearm that had been holding my head fell to the left with a thud, stretching the entire arm. It sent the pencil flying into the air when my hand struck the notebook, landing on the floor cushioned by the rug. The right side of my face sank into the wool of the pajamas I was wearing. With the little strength I had left, I raised my torso and stood up. I pulled the sheets back and lay down on the bed, where I collapsed like a rock into the sand.

At dawn, I opened my eyes again. I felt the bright light of the lamp but ignored it and fell back asleep. An hour later, I opened my eyes once more. The lamp was still on, irritating me more and more, but the sleepiness was so overpowering that I ignored it again. I woke up in the middle of the night for the third time; the light wouldn’t turn off on its own. Now even more irritated, though still soothed by my drowsiness, I finally turned it off and returned to bed. I just wanted to sleep, and I thought it depended solely on my will to do so. But that time, I couldn’t fall asleep because I felt my heartbeat pounding too strongly.

I focused so much on hearing the diligent rhythm of my heart that I held my breath. When I hold my breath, I feel only my heart, its pulse, and a tightness in my chest. In those moments, I am fully conscious, as if I could control every beat of my heart. It’s strange to think that something so essential is, at the same time, untamable. But life would not exist if I didn’t respect every decision this organ made. Each musical note composed by this honorable maestro cannot be contested by those who fail to grasp the beauty of its music. Is there a greater composer than the virtuoso who tirelessly wears itself down every second to produce this long symphony we call life?