Empty bookshelves and burnt-out bulbs hide in the corner of my study along with crumpled old newspapers stained with obscurity. A broken record lies nearby which once played lullabies of crooners helping my dreadful days melt into a tranquil night. I gaze out the window and distant streetlights cast shadows that float into different realms with every blink of my eye. The wind gushes past me in swift movements, it reeks of grey smoke and despair. All that’s left in me now is boredom and instability. I despise them both. Sleep should come easy but as soon as I find myself lying down, my ceiling becomes a haven for old ghost stories. They come one by one and I shiver and shudder with cold beads of sweat running down my face. A perpetually insomniac soul I’ve become and as much as it hurts to not being able to rid myself of this affliction, it does help in reminiscing. Retrospection has never been my friend but the warm summer breeze at night plays symphonies of solace that shield me from destroying myself. Delving deep into my complexities and turning incredibly self-critical with every passing hour, I wait for the horizon to send me its scorching new heat as I mutter swearings under my heavy breath for another day to become another night.