The bed is comfy, but cold. Pillows are soft and fluffy. Both are strangely comforting; they offer this sense of warmth to the body, Though my mind is a raging sea. I toss and turn all night long. Thinking about what? I'm not sure. But I know I'm not asleep— definitely not dreaming, just floating, while keeping my body at ease. The bed is comfy, but hard, a nice description of my mind. It's nothing but a tempest up there, thoughts swirling like lightning, clashing like thunder. It's nothing in particular, but everything at once. So I curl my body to get some sleep, but all I feel is tension in my feet. It doesn't hurt or ache, just seizes and never releases. I doze and awake feeling awfully refreshed, but the fog in my mind tells me I'm only trying to get by. So, trying to go back to sleep is read as lazy by my mind— Because it knows it can always push through, always survive.