Koi fish in my tiny little pond

I hate not being able to sleep. What I hate most is not being able to sleep b/c I'm sick. The insomnia bogey comes in and sets himself on my shoulder, bugger that he is. Makes himself right at home and says to me "What shall we do tonight, my dear? How shall I entertain you?"

I can't help but think that he's a dodgy bastard and really just want him to go away so that I can close my eyes.

"I know!" the little cretin exclaims. "Why don't we start with a story...not just any story, mind you. Something simple, not quite esoteric. Why don't we see what's in your insides, luv. I've been hearing an insistent knocking in your brain, it needs getting out, you see. So...let's have a look, shall we?"

And before I know it, I'm up in my office, ink-stained fingers, torch in hand, writing this:

( Lack of Sleep...pardon the whackness of it all... )

**A bit of a nod there, to Sir George Bernard Shaw and his redoubtable Major Barbara.

One of the questions in that silly survey I answered got me to thinking. Eventually, a weird dream
came of those thoughts....so in the wee hours of the morning, I got up to write this:

Huginn and Muninn (Thought & Memory)

In my thoughts....
Walking side by side, we make our way down
to the Japanese Gardens in the park that
you know I love so much
With each step planted in the new-fallen snow
our boots crunch loudly in the frozen quiet.

Everything seems so picture perfect
even the unearthly glow of frost crystals
that Nature's loving brush painted on the trees
and park benches.

We settle on a stone seat nearest to the water's edge
so the canvas of infinity would be laid open before us
unobstructed
unsullied by humanity

You surprise me by taking my hands in yours
and sticking them into one of your large coat pockets.

"It's really cold out here," you murmur in response to my
raised eyebrow. Blushing slightly, you turn your head towards
the first rays of light. "Look."

Icy tears slide down my cheeks as the canvas fills
with hues of red, gold, blue.
Gossamer strands overlay the deepening colours.

"Perfect," I say, the word nearly caught behind
cracked, bleeding lips.

"I wanted to show you...you know, find the best time,"
you whisper, "Since it's your last."

We say nothing for a long while; just enjoying the stillness
and each other's company. You squeeze my hands tightly
with one of your own, using the other to tug your hood
down low over your face. I know you hate for others to
see you cry.

"It's the best gift I've ever had."

In my memory
Later, as the breath of life
slowly drains from my body
I realised that it was true.