insomnia

rarely ever happens to me, but tonight is an exception.
yeah it's 4:30 in the a.m. and i'm up.
it's past the this is way too late you need to go back to sleep or you're going to regret it in the morning phase and now i'm starting into the cold, clear, ache-y morning phase. there is no time of day i love more than the morning. none. there's something pure and young in it, every day. like the early early morning, when you wake up at 5 to leave on a family road trip and it's blue-dark outside and i always wonder, while the luggage zips and microwave door slams and beeps and the car starts up cold and shivering, why aren't i ever woken up by birdsong? it's certainly loud enough. or like the time we sat under the summer night sky and watched an eclipse and as the sky turned blue-black and then grey and pink and then the palest of blues again and the moon hovered in the west, bitten, pink, and carved, my blankets gathering dew and the sound of joggers across the way, chatting to the rhythm of their own steps.
and in the end, when there's a blizzard pounding at your doors and windows and a storm gathering blackness in your head and you can't sleep, the best comfort in the world is that the night only lasts so long. morning will always come.

falling, catching -- agnes obel

i was made for sunny days -- the weepies

dog days are over -- florence + the machine