Afreen, Written Between Every Breath
Once, sleep used to take me hostage.
I would disappear into it—hours slipping away like they never belonged to me.
They called it hypersomnia.
As if sleeping too much meant I was resting.
I wasn’t.
Sleep was just an escape route back then—a way to avoid feeling things I couldn’t name.
Now, sleep doesn’t come at all.
Insomnia has taken over control, and the nights have become unbearably honest.
There is no darkness thick enough to hide from thoughts anymore.
There is no position comfortable enough to forget her.
She is always there.
Not as a thought I invite, but as a presence that refuses to leave.
I don’t summon her—she arrives.
In the pause between two breaths.
In the silence after the phone goes dark.
In the moments when the world finally stops demanding something from me.
I cannot deny her for a single second.
Even denial feels like remembering.
Every night is the same.
The ceiling becomes a witness.
The clock becomes cruel.
And my mind—my mind becomes a place where only her footsteps echo.
You cannot imagine how much I feel for her.
Because what I feel isn’t loud.
It doesn’t beg to be seen or heard.
It is deep, restrained, and terrifyingly sincere.
It’s the kind of feeling that doesn’t ask for love in return—
It just asks for her peace.
If she could read my mind, she wouldn’t find obsession.
She wouldn’t find possession.
She would find care—raw and trembling.
She would find myself checking on her happiness even in imaginary conversations.
She would find silent apologies for words I never spoke.
She would find prayers without language.
The kind whispered by a heart that knows its limits but still hopes.
My nights are not sleepless because I miss her voice.
They are sleepless because I carry her weight gently—
afraid that even a careless thought might hurt her.
Sometimes I wonder how strange it is—
that one person can change the chemistry of sleep itself.
That the body forgets how to rest when the soul is awake with concern.
The world sees tired eyes.
They don’t see devotion.
The world hears silence.
They don’t hear the chaos of love that never found permission.
Insomnia didn’t steal my sleep.
She replaced it.
And if she ever knew how carefully I hold her in my thoughts—
how every night is spent protecting her place in my mind—
how even exhaustion bows before her name—
If she ever truly knew…
tears would not come from sadness,
but from realizing how deeply someone can love without ever asking to be loved back.
