He knows how this is going to end. All stories end. All lives do.
Often it’s the end that gives meaning to the story.
He sleeps like someone tired of troubles. He didn’t want it- any of it; but this is how it is.
A part of him, a tiny part, knows that it’s coming. The end is coming. It’s just that other parts just do not wish to acknowledge it.
No, I don’t mean to say that it is near. But he knows that no matter what he does, there is going to be an end. It is despite and because of everything he does. It is going to end.
He never chose it. If ever it were a choice, he would never choose it.
And yet he is troubled by the troubles of living. And in acceptance or to avoid, he sleeps like a troubled man.
The sleep for now is definitely better. Better than the end that awaits him. Awaits us all.