insomnia is just consciousness refusing to let go. gripping tighter, the mind racing just as the body demands rest, and the bodega light outside feels like a personal insult, always ON always watching always THERE… but then a thought surfaces, one that isn't laced with dread, a small whisper of possibility, a what if… what if the grip isn't a refusal to let go but a desperate attempt to hold on to something, anything, before it all fades, and the light isn't judging but just… there. existing. like me. both refusing to fade completely.