Why is the sleep that are stolen from the day's earliest moments, the sweetest? Is it that, like all things outside the boundaries of expected behavior, this sleep has the suspense of adventure. Do we sleep with the challenge of making it on time or having to pay the consequences of being late quickening our pulses and feeding our addiction to adrenaline? Or is it the sensation of having settled the conflicts within our hearts in the earlier hours of REM sleep that allows peaceful rest? Is the bed now more conformed to our needs?
I don't know how those last moments become so dear, but I cherish them. At this hour when serene repose has escaped my existence and I am all alone in the dark, I can only "dream" of the joy of the sleep in the moments just before (and maybe a little after) the alarm.
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