She can't sleep

She turns the key at the stroke of midnight,

stepping into a silent house after a long day at work,

She switches on the lights and throws the purse on the bed;

It's late, she realizes, and it's going to be a long day at work tomorrow,

the daily bedtime rituals follow,

and reflecting on the day's events, she tucks herself into bed.

The needle ticks one o'clock,

her head is blank, but she can't quite doze off.

Maybe it's the temperature, maybe not.

She checks her phone for all the missed Facebook updates,

the likes, the comments and the Candy Crush requests,

but it doesn't help, and neither does 9GAG.

What the hell, maybe I should get up.

She heads to the balcony, and the moon is beautiful,

the sky is clear and a cold breeze is blowing;

these are the skies that have been spoken about,

in prose and poetry over the centuries.

It's two am, but she can't quite put herself to sleep,

There's no chaos of thoughts in her head,

but it's isn't quite blank either.

She lights up a cigarette, puts on a song, and slips into a bean bag,

in meek hopes of lightening up her head.

An occasional horn of a car on the street,

in the absence of which she can hear the silence

and the burning cigarette with every puff.

The clock strikes three, maybe I should get a late night snack.

Her image, opening the refrigerator,

illuminated only by the little light inside,

moves the boxes, looking for something to nibble on.

Last night's uneaten dinner doesn't seem to be inviting enough,

Jackpot! There's ice cream in the fridge.

She grabs a spoon and slides back into her bean bag in the balcony,

as Eric Clapton begins to sing, You look wonderful tonight.

But she doesn't. She doesn't feel wonderful,

and all that she wants is for her mind to calm down so she can go to sleep.

The ice cream is over, but her mouth still craves something,

rattling the box, she's down to her last two cigarettes.

Must smoke wisely, and it strikes four am.

These are those awkward night moments,

when she reminiscences all that's happened in her life,

and what she anticipates to do with it.

There's no point going to bed anymore,

if she has to attend the call on time,

A cup of coffee would be perfect.

Choosing one of the five coffee bottles in the shelf,

the Mocha, and as she pours it into the mug,

as the house fills up with the only too familiar scent.

I could head to the terrace, there might be birds chirping,

and she might even be able to see the sunrise for the first time in months.

As she rests against the ledge, and lights up,

she can see the mini-forest behind the apartment complex.

What am I looking for, what am I thinking about,

what is in that view of the forest,

and suddenly she feels like a cliche.

It's such a beautiful weather, the brink of morning but not quite there yet,

at the stroke of 5 am.

That coffee was great, but I'm so tired.

The body needs some rest, I should lie down for a while.

She goes to bed, trying to be careful that she doesn't doze off,

since the sunrise awaits, and so does a long day at work.

Keeping her eyes open, with the lights switched on in the room,

the phone ready to browse all those emails, and notifications.

Maybe a small nap. The sunrise is still twenty minutes away,

and a nap wouldn't be too harsh.

She puts the phone aside and covers herself up with a blanket,

the nap is going to be so welcome after an entire night of being awake.

There's a sharp ringing of silence in her ears, as she closes her eyes,

and the first thing in her head is a butterfly effect.

How different would the night have been,

had something changed in her life; a small incident,

maybe some words, maybe some people,

or maybe it would never have been. That's how that night was always meant to be.

She knows she won't wake up on time.

She knows she'll have to send across another mail apologizing for being late.

She knows what will happen in her very predictable routine.

She hopes it was different.

Someday, it will be, very different.