Unfaithful sleep

At midnight, my eyes stare at the shadows thrown against the wall by the streetlight across the street. Two hours earlier, I had fallen asleep quickly, but the swell of my thoughts or the tectonics of slow digestion, probably both at the same time, quickly get the better of sleep, which, as a good infidel, changes bed at the slightest annoyance.

My head is full of ideas, I try to channel my breathing, to climb through hastily designed locks, a continent of useless thoughts. Forget it, the shadows invite me. I get up, go to the office to get the camera and tripod, install everything, open the ceiling light three times, which destroys the atmosphere, but I can’t see anything, and I have to adjust the camera.

I don’t have my glasses, and my lens has been having trouble focusing itself for some time. I’ll have to investigate, but not tonight. Too bad, it’s dark, I have to shake as you shake and unfold sheets before going back to bed. I take a few shots, the pause time will be long, I don’t activate any flash. The picture will necessarily be blurry. It doesn’t matter, I know that once I have consumed it, the gesture will leave me alone, that once I have satisfied myself, the time will leave me to dreams.

It works. I get up eight hours later, have breakfast, read the electronic newspapers, go to the shower, sit in my bed, Indian-style, wedge the pillows. The calm, once again, like those shadows of last night. I look out the window, the tree in front suddenly looks like a man lifting dead branches.

Maybe I’m still asleep. Never believe in sleep.