Because I even see you in my sleep, and not just see you, but feel, smell and sense you in that other reality and even there, I feel home.
Because I can think of nothing more that I want or need but to sleep beside you, always. Just sleep, or if not sleep, just be there, near you, listening to you breathe while you sleep, hearing your heart beat, feeling your chest rise and fall. Being near and part of your existence.
I dream about living in some house somewhere with you, some place that has a big porch out front and maybe out back too. I want to hang laundry on the line while you slave over the lawns that you complain about every time you have to do them and grumble about whose stupid idea was it to live in a house with so many lawns anyway? And when you’re done doing those lawns, I’ll run you a bath and sit in that thing with you and rub your back and shoulders while you soak your poor aching bones; and I’ll do a really shitty job of it because I’m bad at massages but you’ll tell me that they’re the best thing in the world and nothing makes you feel better like my hands do on you.
And then we’ll go outside and I’ll sit on a seat in that yard that you made look so great while you cook barbecue and we’ll stay out there and eat together and we’ll have to go inside eventually because it gets too cold or starts to get dark. And then I’ll complain about doing the dishes as much as you complained about having to mow the lawns so you’ll do those dishes with me in that kitchen of ours and I’ll flick you with water and you’ll whip me with the dish towel and we’ll laugh and we’ll forget what we were there for in the first place.
When we’re done, we’ll go and sit in front of the TV even though it’s getting late and there’s nothing but infomercials on or some old overly cheesy 80’s movie and it won’t matter because we’ll be curled up together on that comfy old couch together holding hands or leaning on each other and that’s the part we’ll be there for anyway, just to be close to one another because there’s nowhere else we’d rather be.
After we’ve both yawned our way through a couple of hours of pointless television, we’ll go to bed and I’ll curl up into your side while you lie there on your back staring at the ceiling and we’ll talk about something that doesn’t even make a lot of sense but it’ll be mostly you doing the talking and me smiling and giggling because we do that when we’re tired. You ramble and I get the giggles and eventually, I’ll start to feel sleepy, but right before I close my eyes you’ll tell me how much you love me and I’ll tell you the same and you’ll say you love me more and on it will go because there’s no beating you in that argument, so I let you win because silently I know that I love you more anyway. And after you’re asleep and I hear only the sound of you breathing and the rain outside falling on the roof, I’ll be reminded that this is where I’ve always wanted to be, home.
Because I crave sleep in the hope that I may dream about you, because there, in the place between reality and dreams, we can actually be together.
days have turned into weeks.
my sense of time has become distorted
underneath a blanket of
long nights full of hours meant for sleep
that rarely comes.
and I can’t help but wonder,
are you awake too
do you see me when you close your eyes
or are your demons larger than me
leaving me in their shadow
as nothing more
than an already fading memory