It's half past twelve, and I can't fall asleep. No sleeping position feels comfortable. Lying flat gives no sense of security, and curling up always presses on my arms and clothes, no matter how many times I adjust. 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 mind could become reality. It's contradictory. Every night, the same thoughts repeat, and I refuse to accept reality. I feel very uneasy...
Muttering to Myself
It's half past twelve, and I can't fall asleep. No position feels comfortable. Lying flat on my back 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 somehow become real.