It's half past twelve, and I can't fall asleep. No position feels comfortable. Lying flat gives me no sense of security, and curling up always ends up crushing my arm or my clothes, no matter how many times I rearrange them. I wish I had someone to hold, but I've realized I no longer trust love in the real world—yet I still hope the fantasies in my head could become reality.
Contradiction.
Every night, the same thoughts repeat, and I refuse to accept reality.
I'm so restless...
Muttering