Sleep(less)
I don’t believe in sleep at this moment in time.
I'm afraid to get into a relationship and lose this time alone with myself at night..even though the whole reason I stay awake is to avoid a bed that is empty. But I enjoy the burning eye sensation, the desperate attempts to write something I can be content with, the sound of paper crumpling and being thrown about, the sound of keys typing away constantly. The silence. God, I fucking love the silence sometimes. It annoys me to the point where I have to listen to myself, I can’t hide behind some band playing in the background. Can’t write something based on the way they make me feel..no, they’ve already done that. I loved when I lived down the street from this wooden park, I’d sit there at all hours of the night and write until my computer died..then I’d dig out the pen and paper, and I’d write until I was literally falling asleep on the bench. I learned to smoke cigarettes with my left hand on those nights, so I didn’t have to pause even for a second. I loved walking home, sleep deprived, almost intoxicated in thoughts. I would have the best conversations with you though, man did I tell you everything. In my head, you knew every feeling that ran through my bones. Sorry you never actually got to partake in those. They were wonderful. Wonderfully unkept.
There were nights when I would unplug everything. Have no distractions. Those were the nights I would disappear from the actual world, and would write how I wanted to live the world instead. In apartment 13, I wrote my entire life. In apartment 6, I destroyed it. It’s almost as if I was able to map out my attack plan, and while I was sleeping, my mind would work on ways to carry it out. I would wake up in the morning with minor clues as to what was happening in my sleep, but I always looked past them. Random bruising, nose ring 30 feet away from the bed, bags under my eyes looking worse than when I went to sleep, windows unlocked and open, shoes missing and pages written. It’s almost as if the side of me that wanted me destroyed would leave me pages of things to believe and read in the morning, so I wouldn’t question anything. And I was too busy in the bullshit to even notice a difference. I was too busy destroying myself.
You’re probably asking yourself how ‘you’ fit into this whole picture. Well, I’m learning how to put myself back together. I’m realizing the thoughts I want to make reality. I’m acknowledging the steps I need to take to make myself whole again. I mean, there really is no way to go but up from here. I’ve been stepped on, trampled over, hit while I was down, belittled, transformed and I’m here still standing. Not to bring pride into this, but I was not off my feet for very long at all. And I’m here right now standing tall in this thick ass mud, realizing that I may actually need someone to help motivate me along the way. Not to put too much pressure on you, whoever you are, but for once in my life I think I want that. I want someone to be the other half of me. I realize that doesn’t just happen, but fuck what if it does? What if there is someone out there that can make you a better person and you the same for them. Those that work with you to get you where you want to be, and stick around for the rest of your life. Someone who you look in their eyes and you see your future, and there is never a cloud of doubt over anything. I realize I’m talking in some sort of fairy tale font right now, but this is what I believe in. It’s what I have to believe in I guess, ‘cause I see this happening everywhere. I see people get married every week, and most of the time I see a love so strong that I can’t help but get goosebumps (fuck you spell check, goosebumps should be one word). I want to feel those when I wake up next to someone, I want to feel it when I go to bed, and as I’m sitting here writing on a couch and you’re working on whatever it is you want to work towards in life. I want to share accomplishments together, and goals. I want to celebrate them all, even the tiny ones. Even if it’s just sex on top of all the half written love stories I have written, so we can finish in them together. I just know I’ll be able to sleep, and I’ll have something to look forward crawling into bed with my burning eyes and exhausted mind.
Knowing that when I toss and turn throughout the night, I'll be touching (you) the entire time. Sorry if it wakes you.
