I envy those who go to bed at night knowing that someone somewhere says a small prayer for them with an aching and a longing heart. Those whose mind's lie on a pillow of sweet memories and under a blanket of a hope for the future. Whose sleep is not easily stirred, and for whom rest comes swiftly and deeply. Content.
So unlike those whose sleep is shaken by the howl of street dogs in the moonlight and whose dreams chased away by the horn of the ships coming into port. Whose solace is solace and for whom every day is followed by a sleepless night with eyes weary, yet not slumbering, and bones aching yet constantly moving. And for whom the only companion is the vast and empty expanse of the night, ringing silently in their ear.