Metaphorically speaking.

It is well into the night, some would even consider it morning. She eats a bowl of cereal and stares straight ahead. Her mind is so active it wouldnt surprise me if she wasnt aware of the mass amount of lucky charms she continually pours into the tiny paper cup. Life is on her mind while her life is happening. I can't decide if I should tell her how unhealthy that is, but then again... she seems to be fine. She appears happy. Perhaps this is how she grew up, how she taught herself to live. 60% of the time no one has her attention, she is generally pondering on who knows what. She's a good fake. Her eye contact, body language and occasional nods are very deceiving. Her eyes get heavy as she begins to yawn. "Sleep all day, play all night" she has heard it from her dad a trillion times. She knows its not okay, but telling herself she needs a regular sleeping pattern will not give her a regular sleeping pattern. Her life is made of metaphors. Her room is too hot, outside is too cold. She is in the living room. Caught in the inbetween. The clock on the wall is doing all that it can to get her to close her eyes, but as mentioned previously... time might aswell not exist. He puts a smile on her face. She might get some sleep tonight. & The fly on the window continues to find its way out into the world.