The Feel of the Air on Your Thighs When They're First Freed From Your Pantlegs

It's a refreshing and disgusting feeling being up past 5am.
Everything in me wishes I were already sleeping and sleeping hard.
Dreaming of little rosy animals and impossibly high flights above some green, leafy forest filled with bright and delicious fruits, dulcet melodies, and beautiful raw sexual encounters of all but unmarred innocence.

This is the feeling of loneliness in a space designed for being solitary.
It's the feeling a novice experiences, no doubt, during those first trying weeks at the convent.
Wanting everything and yet in everything wanting to want nothing.

Paradoxical, it may seem, and yet there's an ambitious beauty in its undertaking.
It's as if she wills herself to be all that she doesn't desire to be in the first instance just so that she can predict the following instances with unchecked and uninteresting accuracy.

I'd rather find comfort of the lucidity of dreaming than in this place at this very hour.

Sleep should act as a perfect poison to my current vivification.