“It feels good not to have to sleep alone.”
I fall asleep in the concave of his back. The valley between shoulder blades. My fingers in the soft hair at his neck. It’s a restless sleep and I roll away from him again and again. His feet find mine under the covers. His arms a cocoon and his lips on my forehead when I burrow down and under and away from his kiss. The hands that run over my sides and down to my thighs. The fingers that keep asking questions I can’t answer. The shifts and the pushing away and the turning over that are a million different ways of saying no. I emerge somewhere between wake and dreaming and my heart fills with nausea, prickles of hatred develop in goosebumps on my skin; the man in my dream is not the man in my bed. Our broken hearts are palpable. His and mine. In the dark we curl around each other.
“Your bed is so short,” he says stretching his legs diagonally across mine.
“It’s a Lindsay-sized bed.”
I pause, letting the silence dangle between us in the air, searching out his eyes in the moonlight from my window.
I am tired of ferrying these hearts. I am tired of being a stepping stone. There is something calming in the depths, the icy stillness of the water. If I could dive in, if I could swim on and on and down into the pitch, the empty black, and never reach the bottom. Lay suspended there, weightless, until I run out of air. Would I do it? I don’t know anymore.
It feels like another kind of nothing. Something new to fill up the space with, to use up the hours that aren’t spent with him. I try not to hate the dreams when my desires and real life collide. When I wake up missing parts of myself and I have to hunt through my room for them; under piles of clothes; in cluttered bags; in amongst the trash I can’t bring myself to throw away. Where am I?
I think about what I will do if I never want to hold another hand. I think about where I will go if I never make another home. I think about the men that I have kissed and all the faces I don’t want to see when I close my eyes.
And then I think of him. Because, I always think of him.
Noah and the Whale – Blue Skies (Live)