Insoimnia

     It is nights like tonight that I understand her insomnia. I think, and I do believe that I am right, but I think that she never ever had insomnia. I think that night was just her time, her time to regress, her time to be anything other than any label ever gave her. She was a mother; by nature, some may argue, but that is where she prevailed. 
     Regardless, here I find myself, wide awake in the hours that most should be sleeping; her hours. I spent so many countless nights wondering what she did so late at night, all alone...I would sneak down and peer, but only now do I realize that she was doing nothing...and nothing to her was her time. She watched M.A.S.H., did crossword puzzles, and only after she died did I realize it, she dreamed!
     She wrote elaborate thoughts out on the backs of notepads illustrations included. She was a steady dreamer, she knew what she had, but always grasped for more...there, right there is me. 
     It is hard not to draw on the coincidences of such things when after all genes are passed down right?
There is so much of her in me it scares me. The way I laugh, my mannerisms (which I am constantly reminded are hers), my constant longing...
     Now I left you just there thinking that I want/need more, and that couldn't be farther from the the truth...I will never lie, I always want more, I always want things in tip top shape, however I also know that what I have currently is far better than anything I could wish for. I think the same was true for her, take it or leave it. 
     Life is silly, stupid, down right dumb sometimes, that is it.