I do know people who go to bed and just fall asleep. My sister for example just jumps under her duvet and two minutes later she is sound asleep. F. the companion of former days, put his arm over his eyes and snorted like a mid-sized walrus. I envy these people. The sleep and I we don’t go well together. Many nights I have spent sitting on my windowsill looking down on the street. Sometimes the sleep sits by my window and smokes a cigar. Hey, sleep I say, don’t you want to come in? But the sleep just smiles sadly at me and jumps on the branch of a tree or climbs down a balcony to disappear in a dark window. Come back I say and sometimes I even say: please. But the sleep doesn’t listen. He, who wears the same cape year after year does not answer those questions. I know this for sure, because I am asking for so many years. He never looked even back and just pretends not to see my on the windowsill, sitting and waiting. Sometimes I see him standing at a corner, looking for something hidden in his knapsack,but he never seems to find what he is looking for. My grandmother was the same. Whenever I visited her in the long summer holidays, when I slept next to her in the white, old wooden bed, I knew that she was awake. But whenever I whispered: „are you awake?“, she closed her eyes and never answered back. For long hours, I watched her not sleeping and maybe this was the moment when the sleep decided that we were hopeless cases and his visit of no use. My grandmother is long dead but I doubt that she is asleep, wherever she is. On my windowsill at night I embrace my knees and wait and wait and wait for a night to come, where the sleep takes me by his hand and sits next to my bed, listening for me to breath in and breath out till I am asleep.