chrysalism

[n] the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm.

GMT+8.

0230.

the storm out there is a passionate orchestra, despite its slumbering, unresponsive audience.

i wish there is a word to describe the melancholy that creeps on me in the middle of the night, making me feel like the people in faded photographs and grainy films. 

a sense of weightlessness which somehow feels laden too. 

ghostly, unreal, and so, so sad.

does that make sense to you? 

it will probably mean as little to me tomorrow morning, where light and noise will dispel all pointless, wandering thoughts. 

who knows, i may even laugh at myself a little for being so melodramatic.

but for now, i’m immersed in it, not quite sure if i want to even get out; this mood seems right for the raging storm out there somehow.

the kind of things insomnia does to you…

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