"Love is drowning in a deep well
All the secrets and noone to tell."
-- U2, Love is blindness
Some nights I don't sleep. At times it's a pure insomnia caused by overwork and thus stress, sometimes it's a phenomenon akin, vaguely, to insomnia: your senses are almost asleep, you feel pre-doze-off heaviness all over your body, but your brain's wandering around awake. Mostly it's just one face or the other that won't leave your thoughts. Some periods are a mere succession of lights and shadows, compartmentalisation and delineation of time by mundane, necessary routines - hygiene maintenance, food intake. Last such period was in March when I kept the track of time: fifty two hours awake, no record by any stretch of the imagination. Some years are not even years, they are a flow, almost, where you wake up with the one you love, go to sleep with the one you love, spend your every moment literally or figuratively with the one you love. Then you're jolted awake by the brutality of a head-on impact brought about by the reality of your situation versus the reality of your feelings; you no longer sleep nor wake, you simply zombiefy, and all you do is to repeatedly try to stop obsessing over every memory. All you do is try to forget, never succeeding, but trying nonetheless, as if my life depended on it...