Have you ever been the only person awake in a house filled with people? Or at least, the only one you know is awake.
It usually happens early in the morning after a late night, or late at night, after a hectic day.
And usually, you are also in bed, but unable to sleep, and that is where is begins.
A strange sort of awareness. A strange sort of handicap.
You hesitate to get out of bed for fear of awaking anyone else. Why? So as not to disturb their rest? Or so that no one will intrude into your peace?
You turn the tap so that only a trickle of water flows into the glass. Rushing water might attract attention. And then you drink that glass of water as if it were the only thing standing between you and the desert.
You can’t read because you can’t turn on the light. If you are lucky, you are near a window, and so you hesitantly pull back the corner of a curtain, and try to catch a few rays of light on the pages of your book. But unless the book is why you are awake in the first place, that fascination seems only to last for a moment or so. You gradually let the curtains fall back into place.
And then you hear a creak. A footfall. And you turn around and pull the covers back over your head.
Why allow anyone else into your peace? Why intrude into anyone else’s?
Disjoint Wisdom 