Retrograde (James Blake)


I don’t like going to sleep angry.

I don’t think anyone does.

It’s this horrid dreadful thing, trying to sleep when you are just. so. furious.
You can hear your own heartbeats in the pillow where you put your head. And every time you close your eyes the image of whatever’s bothering you appears before you. And you respond to the images with more hatred, and you start imagining all the things you could have said, but didn’t, because you couldn’t.
Then you try your best to go to your happy place, but your happy place is also ruined, thanks to this fire of anger, consuming every room of your mind palace.

This doesn’t happen often to me.
But it frequented my nights this last week, and I am not enjoying it.

I go to bed angry, I fall asleep angrier, I wake up with headaches, I go through the day nauseous, sleepless, and frustrated.

I don’t like going to sleep angry.
I don’t like being angry.
I don’t like how useless, and petty and annoying it makes me.

So I particularly don’t like it, when I show such effort to bring calm into the mess that was made, and my effort remains unrequited.

I believe in the strenght of friendships, and I also like to believe in the strenght of my friends.
The silly things we go through are supposed to be nothing against that strenght.
Tiny bumps we jump over, holding hands, laughing.
Nothing to sleep angry for.

When that’s gone, I don’t know what to believe.



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