Sleepless princess.

4 a.m.

The lover is sleeping soundly in the next room, and I am sitting here, on his couch, wandering the world (wide web) on his Mac, not wearing much, thinking too much, yet once again.

...

As far as I can remember, I have always had trouble sleeping. As a child, I recall waking up in the middle of the night, wondering and worrying about many things -- too many things that a five year-old most certainly should not be wondering and worrying about.

We lived in a quiet part of a rather quiet city back then, but that didn't stop me from hearing and seeing and feeling things -- things that made me fervently believe that the Night was very much alive; that, unlike her scorned lover Day, she was mysterious, devious, thoroughly envious of his Light.

I remember those nights. On those nights, little demon childs were awaiting in the shadows, waiting for me to fall asleep so they could steal my baby brother from me. Many a times, I had to gather enough strength from my Blanket of Courage, and many a times, I had to tiptoe past the Creature in My Closet, the Dragons in my Drawers, the Dog of Death guarding the door, to get to my brother's crib. Once there, my hand then slowly, ever so slowly, reached out to him through the bars, and gently rested itself on his beating little baby heart.

And when I was absolutely sure that my little brother was safe -- that he was who he really is, and that he was still breathing evenly -- only then did I borrow a tiny piece of his peacefulness to take with me on my perilous journey back to my own little bed.

When I have a daughter of my own, I will make sure to paint Pegasus on her walls, along with an invisible but most invincible armor for my little warrior princess to protect herself. And she, too, will win the war against Night all on her own, without the help of any army or princely Knight.