Wide Awake

Her face is dimly lit, barely enough for me to see the tiny glimmer of her eyes underneath those delicate long lashes. She's fighting a losing battle, but she won't give it up.

She struggles against the waves of sleep that weigh her eyelids down. They droop ever so slowly, until they hit the bottom line, and close.

Then as if with all the strength in her little body, she forces them open once more. Each time, it's a harder task than the time before. With dogged resistance, she withstands wave after wave until finally, sleep overpowers her.

It wasn't so long ago that I too fought sleep tooth and nail. But now I take to my bed gladly. I welcome sleep as an overzealous usher does at church, running to embrace it at full speed. I'm out like a light in three minutes.

It intrigues me that while most children fight to stay awake, most adults cannot wait to sleep. Perhaps it's just the way our bodies develop.

Or perhaps it's because as time goes by, we lose a certain zest for life. We've been there, done that, and expect that tomorrow we will simply go there and do that again. Sleep becomes a welcome break from the monotony of it all.

Perhaps children fight sleep so stubbornly because they feel like they have so much to learn, to experience, to discover. Each moment spent asleep is a moment that could be spent taking in the world around them, is a moment they'll never get back.

Oh to see the world with fresh eyes and wonder,

To expect a brand new day with each sunrise,

To squeeze out of life every little bit you can get.

Oh to be like a child again.