The floor moaned and groaned in protest to the upstairs tenant's unfamiliar weight. My ceiling was bending and squeaking, and burrowing its noises into my ears, keeping me awake. My eyes wander the room, trying to find something to captivate me, or better yet, bore me to sleep.
At least I'm not alone.
Whoever is upstairs is pacing the floorboards back and fourth; maybe caught between sleep and wake just like I am.
My mind races as the dim Christmas lights blur into a thousand streaming lines in the hallway, illuminating the black and white photographs that line the walls.
Warmth from the freestanding heater creeps up my body and into my face, suffocating me and my thoughts. Finally my mind is quieted, and I'm ready to drift.
When the owl finally rests it's wide, wise eyes, the night finally says
good morning,
good morning,
goodnight.
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