Moving through a dream world.

Even in sleep, I'm know I'm moving. I'm aware of every turn, every breath, every touch. Usually it aggravates me, but occasionally I embrace the knowledge that even though I'm not awake, everything keeps moving.

Waking at 3 AM has never been my favourite thing. I don't like waking before the sun, so I dread the 3 AM starts. My sister and I clamber into the car, too tired to walk, and within minutes, we've started moving.

For a while, I try to keep up with where I am. I like watching as the city falls away, revealing the trees and mountains of the countryside, and later the nothing-ness of the open road.

Soon, I find myself on the edges of sleep. I slow my breathing, and embrace the movement of the car beneath me. I pull my blankets tighter and fall asleep watching the world change around me.

Halfway through the night, I wake to find we've stopped at a service station. I walk inside in search of something to help me sleep. Every turn, every stop, every bump in the road had roused me so far. A small packet of sleeping tablets called me to them, promising the relief that I so desperately needed, and I was back in the car with a bottle of water and a tablet in moments.

Mum always tells me to only take half a sleeping tablet. "You really don't need the full tablet like they recommend," she tells me. Without anything to break the tablet with, and not wanting to bit it in half in case I accidentally taste it, I have to take the full one. What's the worst that could happen? I'd be asleep, and that's all that really matters, right? I place the tablet on my tongue, and take a long drink of water. Within minutes, I was asleep again.

The hum of the car provided a nice soundtrack to my dreams, all colours and lights. Everything felt so real. The West Gate Bridge rose up over a purple river, reflecting the sky above. The yellow city in front of me winked cheerfully on, as we moved ever closer. We turned onto a smaller street, lined with orange trees, and pulled into a garage.

I wake to find myself in an unfamiliar bed. Spying a window across the room, I walk over as quietly as possible and pull aside the curtains. Melbourne rises out of the ground before me, reassuringly green and grey unlike that of my dream world. The buildings stand tall and point upwards to the brilliant blue sky, stretching far beyond what I can see from my little square window. People line the streets below, and I wonder how they all slept.

The world moved on without me.