Mazzy Star - Into Dust

I can't fall asleep. Before Melatonin and the prevalence of wireless internet in laptops, which together made my insomnia seem a little less daunting, late at night when I couldn't sleep I'd do what I was doing five minutes ago: staring at the lights on my ceiling. It's a rare sight nowadays, that blank corner at the top of the room decorated with illuminated stripes let in by the blinds. This scene is a faded memory of countless other sleepless nights in my life, all important in my mind... because nowadays I never see the ceiling lights anymore unless I've just gone to a new place and haven't yet settled into the routine of escaping online. After the commotion of moving subsides and leaves me nothing but darkness and quiet, I start to think. And everything begins sinking in.

I remember being scared that first night in Dunedin, where the cold repeatedly jolted me awake to sight of yellow streetlamps flooding into my too-large room. I remember my first night in New York this past winter, the blinds letting rows of light into my cousin's shoebox apartment, the excitement that came with being there. Sansom and the curtains that prevented the dim glow of the city from entering the dorm, how I felt when viewing them from below. My first night at home, in near-complete darkness. Moments long ago when I crawled into my parents' bed after being scared by some bump in the night and felt safe between the sheets watching the headlights of passing cars roll across our ceilings and walls.

This is my first time sleeping in Rodin 13, the last few hours before class begins again, and the first time since I've come to Philadelphia that I've felt comfortable, really comfortable, with my being here. Just another ceiling-light memory I'll remember for the next time.