The fan is the casualty of my latest relationship.

It got broken and I can’t sleep.

It seems I am addicted to the white noise and without the hum of the motor moving the fan back and forth there is nothing but me here.

In the quiet my thoughts bounce off the walls and the sound of my own breathing drives me to distraction.

I toss and turn, every sigh, every movement of my skin on the sheets is amplified, echoing and I miss the fan more and more as he fades further and further away.

Should I send him the bill for its replacement or consider it collateral damage?

That is something to think about while I can’t sleep, while I toss and turn distracted by the silence, distracted by the minute sounds that used to be buried by the sound of the fan.

No one to call, no one to talk to, just me and my thoughts bouncing off the walls.