In my mind I imagined putting a pillow over his face and stopping his breath until he admitted I was right and he was a jerk. Though all the while, I wished he would turn over and hug me to his broad chest and whisper he loved me.
Only the fan’s soft whirring made a sound in the dark room as I clenched my eyes shut and took a deep, silent breath, and willed myself not to cry. He would make fun of me if I did.
My hopes faded as I heard his even breath. How is it he can sleep and I’m stuck here with a knot in my chest and a lump in my throat? But after awhile even I fall asleep, only to wake momentarily when he turns and his arm brushes mine. His touch, while it torments me, soothes me, and I sleep.
They say dreams are the door to our subconscious and bring meaning to our everyday lives, and sleep is merely the vehicle to what we truly desire and need.
Funny that harsh words and a rift between two bodies larger than an ocean can be eradicated in sleep. His arm reaches out in the early morning hours, and I don’t think about the fact that we went to bed mad, instead I know what I want, my true love’s arms wrapped around me, and mine wrapped around him. Anger and space have no place in sleep. Only the tender, most vulnerable pieces of yourself exist. In sleep, two lovers unite. With the sun comes reality. But in the soft, cool hours of dawn, the world is perfectly in tune.
The world is cold when I wake. Not the soothing freshness of morning nor the sweltering heat that can sometimes come with passion, anger and fire in the sky. This world is cold. Jagged. But I don’t shiver as I shake a Parliament Light from its package and press the recessed filter to my lips.
I let the cold winter sun hit my naked body and I look out into the new and tiresome day. I flick the lighter and shudder as the heat warms my chilled nose and icy lips while I light my cigarette. The warmth affects me as much as making an unexpected friend does. For a moment I realize I miss it. The cold is my only friend these days.
I glance back at the empty bed, and take a deep drag from the cigarette. The smoke is like the grey clouds in the sky, dreary and lifeless.
I rather like my friend the cold, and I dismiss the sudden need for warmth until the craving is gone. Reality comes with waking.