By: Ana Qarri

 

Dear Sleep,

I’m leaving you.

Don’t exhaust yourself by pretending to be surprised, like you never dreamed this day would come. I know you knew this was coming.

Maybe it was the nights I didn’t spend with you. Maybe it was the mornings I lay down with you just to humour you. Maybe it was the bags under my eyes, becoming more and more commonplace.

As I made my way between friends and parties and last-minute essays, I could feel you trying to pull me closer. I was unconscious of any hurt I caused you. I wanted to stay with you; I do still. I’m not tired of our relationship. I wished there was a compromise we could make, but I know now I was asking for too much.

However, before you start crying and I sit here unsure of how to comfort you, let’s put things into perspective: our relationship was never healthy. Sure, we had our special nights, when it felt like our time together went by faster than second term. We had those few weekends when we were united until the late hours of the afternoon. We have those moments stolen in class, sometimes drawing the disapproving stares of my peers. But between these rare days were periods that stretched, when you and I rarely saw each other. When we did, it wasn’t out of love: it was out of habit.

Sleep, you should know that I find you extremely pleasant. All in all, you’re pretty chill. I still want us to hang out sometimes, preferably on the weekend, preferably when I don’t have other plans.

If you want to talk, I’m here.

It’s not you, it’s actually me.

Regretfully,

Sleep-Deprived

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