Nights of Chaos

Absurd Musings
2 min readJul 14, 2020


“Life is nothing without a little chaos to make it interesting.”

Reclining on her bed, slumber playing hide & seek in her eyes while they were worn out and burning with stress. She was tired (that’s what she seemed from outside). An aura of chaos was lurking beneath her eyes. Half hour of shuffling and tossing the sides, she surrendered. Although she wanted to sleep but it was her mind as usual, that took her once again to the farthest zone of boundless thoughts. Just like the rest of her nights slip by in hours of introspection.

Disappointed by her sleep she whispered to herself, “Why do I have to sleep?”

“I guess I can’t sleep this soon.” Responding to her own question she went on mumbling, “May be it’s not my time yet.”

Wondering about the idea that God takes our souls while we sleep, her eyes curiously got wider. “I wish I could voluntarily control my astral body for once to see how it feels experiencing the world from a distance.” Smiling at her weird thoughts, she shuffled the side again.

This time her mind was unfolding her memories, taking her back in time, although she didn’t wanted it. The aura of regrets, nostalgia, flaws and chaos, surrounded her. She managed to keep herself away from depression for she knew it was useless.

“Time is fickle. It’s a bliss that nothing lasts forever.” A faded grim smile hovered on her face and she got up in despair. “Why can’t I sleep?” She was not one of those who used to blame God or others for their bad times, neither the one losing all hopes and living with their darkness under pessimism. She was stoical. The right kind of crazy, accepting every bitter reality of labyrinth, complaining no one for her mishaps.

She accepted her flaws and broken fragments and made them look beautiful in her own unique way. She knew perfection was not her type. She didn’t wanted to be perfect, she was enigmatic in herself.

Once again she laid down on bed. This time she had the belief that she was going to sleep as optimism was surrounding her.

“Perfection is fictional. My life holds a lot more better stuff for me to explore.” An aura of satisfaction was now lurking beneath her eyes as she closed them.



Absurd Musings

A Writer and a Poētria. Ambitious about Art and Literature.