text: It’s these quiet times when my mind gets the noisiest. It’s as if it knows when I’m most vulnerable, timing it’s darkest hypothetical visions when there is no one around to comfort me. All the possible lies whispered loudly in my ear. Why is the worst always assumed? Was it because of what my father did when I was younger, or was it because of what I did not too long ago? Why does suffering have to be the defence mechanism to getting hurt? &#x200B; I turned on my light and decided to read. It wasn’t like I was going to be able to fall asleep anytime soon. I quickly checked my phone for any messages. A few, but not from the person I wanted to talk to most. The person that made me feel safe and whole, the person that would hug me no matter the result of life, the person I had been so damn lucky to meet. &#x200B; The book was about a man who fell in love with the sea. He would stare at it for hours to show his appreciation for its power and its stillness. He would read it stories and listen to hers in return. One day, he decided he could no longer bear being separate from his love and became one with it forever. The sea took him in with her loving arms, murmuring how she loved him to death. They were finally together. &#x200B; The book was a bit dramatic for my liking but I appreciated the message, especially at this point in my life. A vision of her enjoying another man brushed my minds eye before scurrying into the depths of my consciousness. &#x200B; Reading didn’t seem to be helping my attempt to fall asleep so I decided to meditate. I set a timer for ten minutes and closed my eyes. I started with ten deep breaths just like I had been taught, covering the breath with my awareness, noting the beginning and end of the inhalations and exhalations, as well as the little space between them. I began to let go and let my body breathe the way it wanted to, the way it did every day whether I noticed it or not. I watched my thoughts pass through: the ones about the book, the ones about tomorrow’s agenda, the ones about whether I would ever be able to fall asleep, and the ones about her. The ones about her were the hardest to let go of. I wanted so badly to go into the story, to witness who she was sleeping with, to listen to her admit it and spit venom at her, to slam the door and hate that I still loved her. But I let those ones go too. They were stories, pictures on a movie screen. They weren’t real. &#x200B; I let the sound of the timer ring for a couple moments, appreciating the few moments of quiet I had experienced. I put my head against the pillow, allowing my eyelids to concede to gravity, and allowing my heart to concede to reality. I would be with her soon.