"You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams"

The line captures the moment when waking life outshines fantasy, making the bed a doorway you hesitate to close. Sleeplessness here isn’t about anxiety; it’s an overflow of aliveness. The mind, instead of drifting off to fabricate sweeter scenes, keeps circling back to the tangible face, voice, and nearness that daylight offered. Love reorders desire: imagination no longer needs to rescue you from the ordinary, because the ordinary has been transfigured. Night used to be an escape; now it feels like an interruption.

Dreams are malleable and safe; they obey you. Reality is stubborn and unpredictable. When affection deepens into love, that unpredictability becomes exhilarating rather than threatening. The real flaws and textures of a person, quirks, pauses, imperfections, carry more beauty than any flawless dream. Streetlights, dishes in the sink, shared jokes, the warmth on a late walk home: common details become luminous. Presence itself turns into a feast, and your body resists sleep because it would mean turning away from a banquet still being served.

There’s also a test buried here. If even your most extravagant fantasies can’t improve upon what you’re living, then you’ve crossed from longing into belonging. That implies trust: being seen without costume and still chosen. It also implies attention, love that keeps you awake is not fueled by adrenaline alone, but by a careful savoring of small miracles. You stay up not to chase a mirage, but to memorize how it all feels, so morning can find you grateful and ready.

Paradoxically, you might be losing hours of rest while feeling more restored than ever. Love re-enchants waking life, and enchantment is a powerful stimulant. Dreams will return, of course, but their job changes. They no longer compensate for lack; they echo abundance, a soft chorus to the bright music already playing in the room.