Some nights, I wish I could sleep without sleeping.
Let my body rest,
without letting time pass me by.
Let the ache dissolve
without pausing the dream I’m still building.
Because I’ve got things to finish.
Ideas lined up like luggage at the door.
And every time I lie down,
the checklist whispers in my chest like a second heartbeat.
It’s not that I’m afraid of silence.
I just don’t want to lose time inside it.
I want to write,
I want to organize,
I want to build the next thing while my body floats
in weightless, healing rest.
But the truth is:
That kind of magic doesn’t exist not in this body.
We weren’t built to run 24 hours on ambition alone.
We weren’t shaped to survive without stillness.
So here I am,
somewhere between urgency and peace,
learning how to hold both.
There’s a quiet kind of burnout that lives in brilliance.
A soft exhaustion that follows the ones
who carry vision in their bones.
And when you’re used to surviving,
rest can feel like rebellion.
Like too much stillness might make it all slip away.
But here’s what I’m learning slowly:
You can’t outrun your limits and call it progress.
You can’t trade sleep for success and expect peace.
So maybe the goal isn’t to escape sleep.
Maybe the goal is to escape the guilt
that comes with needing it.
To redesign the rhythm.
To rebuild the routine.
To create an environment where rest is not punishment
but permission.
Permission to come back clearer.
Stronger.
Rooted.
Ready.
So, if you, too, are trying to build while your body begs to pause
Let me say this, softly:
You’re not weak.
You’re not lazy.
You’re not behind.
You are just a soul
who’s been on for too long.
And it’s okay to turn the lights down.
Even the brightest forces disappear into the dark
just long enough to rise again.
Rest is part of the process.
It’s not the pause on your purpose
it’s the charging station for your becoming.