Circadian Rhythm

I forgot how much I love the mornings. The air is still fresh enough to sear your lungs, the birds soar unparalleled. The day sings of juxtaposition between serenity and chaos. You can hear the cars murmuring, the people talking. Carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero. The sky will brighten as we chant memento mori under our breaths, reminiscent of how all good things come to an end. 

So it makes me sad when all I see are the afternoons and evenings. Midday hangs silently like death. It is often silent while the sun scorches the minds of those who wander. I think I hate the afternoons. It makes me sad, to see how little of humanity resonates through these hours. It is lonely. It is empty. 

And once the sun sets, twilight makes a mockery of the unaccomplished. As I lie in my own thoughts, the stillness darkens alongside my walls. A painful whitewashed room turns dusky, turns dark. 

I can’t move. I can’t cry. Another day has gone by. Without me. 

I think I’ve stopped feeling. The late nights hold me at an arm’s length. Screens are not the only barrier I put up before those I love. 

If my nihilism is considered intelligence, am I benighted for seeking sentience? 

I’m restless. And sometimes I see the sunrise. That’s when I know it’s too late, like always. 

I’ll close my eyes and calm my heart as everything I love fades out of the dark.

-Divya

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on Instagram, I posted this as more of a poem. Here, I've written it in prose. Take it as you wish. 

Also yes, my terrible sleep cycle was, in fact, the inspiration for this.