Questions in the Night

I lie awake. Restless, unsettled, disturbed. My mind races at night’s darkest hour. Tonight marks the unwanted return of the unanswerable.

I try to sleep. Apprehensive, tense, burdened. It comes without warning. Questions of the deepest sort announce an uneasy transition between sleep and wakefulness.

Asking what shouldn’t be asked.
Thinking what shouldn’t be thought.
Imagining what shouldn’t be imagined.

I toss and turn. Fidgety, troubled, confused. My mind plunges deeper into places one should never venture in the dead of night, when sleeping life awaits the birth of day.

I look at the clock. Afraid, exhausted, worried. Some questions aren’t meant for the night. Like my body, they should lie dormant and in darkness until the light of day.

Asking what shouldn’t be asked
Thinking what shouldn’t be thought.
Imagining what shouldn’t be imagined.

I lose myself in time. Searching, anxious, desperate. Lost in memories of people long ago. Reliving the mistakes made in my youth. Trapped inescapably in prior moments of failure. Questioning myself for deeds I thought to be forgotten.

I try to settle. Resigned, yielding, surrendering. My being now fraught with questions of ultimate significance. I ask questions of myself, existence, God. Why do such questions bother me at night? Questions, especially of one’s of ultimate significance, should wait for the proper time.

Asking what shouldn’t be asked
Thinking what shouldn’t be thought.
Imagining what shouldn’t be imagined.

I finally see the sunrise…

Photo by Jp Valery on Unsplash