As mentioned in the previous post about sleep, tiring days on campus keep bringing me back to the subject.
Another about sleep. I’ll write a hundred about sleep, for you. I like the way that you look when you’re sleeping, as though all the thoughts which trouble your lovely mind take on the form of something beautiful and soothe you like lullabies. I like that there are people whose well-being matters deeply to us, and ours to them, and I like that you’re at peace when you’re sleeping. I like the way that you are when you’re just waking up. The way that your eyes look beneath your ruffled hair, so bright and clear, like you’ve already had that strong cup of coffee that you’re aching to get to. You wake up ready to soldier through the day, and that’s singular. A few empty grumblings aside, you are quite the morning person, and it makes smile. You always make me smile. Dear friend, I like how you are when you’re falling asleep. I like the things that you say and the way that you talk. You’re always honest, but you seem ever so slightly more so, then. I like how your words come out more softly and more slowly, as though they know they aren’t supposed to be used very often. As though the daylight isn’t privileged to bear witness to them, but maybe it’s okay, because the darkness will hide them from being quite so transparent. I like how you are when you’re falling asleep…. Maybe, in those still, quiet moments, when you sound very genuine and very tired and very real, and I forget not to trust too much in anything, maybe it’s a little bit more than that. Dear friend, I like how you are in all the stages of sleeping. But then again, I like you all the time.
I’ve been writing a lot of things centered around sleep. On campus, during very long breaks between classes, or during classes, I keep coming back to the subject of sleep. This is decidedly not a coincidence.
You woke up breathless, from a nightmare that would’ve been a dream, once, and stared up restlessly at a ceiling that you couldn’t quite distinguish from the darkness. It was a nightmare, upon rousing, but then again it wasn’t quite a dream even while you sleeping. Immersed in everything that made you happy, there had still been traces of deep sadness, not exactly felt per se, but recognized. Even your sleeping mind can separate desire from reality, and once something is lost it can never quite be recovered. After all, it was only a dream, not a time machine. But still, the moment that your eyes began adjusting to the darkness you were quick to shut them tightly. It was only a dream, but your drowsy mind would not be bothered with rationalizations. You turned over, a heavy sigh lost in the rustle of your blankets. You gathered them snug around you; they lacked the animate warmth which you so desperately wanted. You hugged your limbs in close to your body, and with fevered whispers you prayed to God to fall back into sleep.
Used it in my mandatory English journal because, once again, I procrastinated and was scrounging last minute to meet the journal entry minimum. My teacher liked this one a lot, and that made me a little bit sad.
Dear friend of mine
it seems that when we close our eyes
we see the same things
and when we fall asleep
we dream the same things
but we don’t dream often, you and I
because we both have trouble sleeping,
these days
we’ve both got someone on our mind,
these days
They’re hardly more than ghosts now
but they haunt us
when we’re lonely
and it seems we’re always lonely,
these days
Dear friend of mine
we keep reminding each other
what they say about time
and how it heals all pain
but you’d think that time had something to gain
the way it’s dragging on
We’re both so worn out,
these days
and our suspicions are growing
that maybe this ache won’t ever go away
But shhh!
Dear friend, don’t say it out loud
because I’m scared to death
that this ache won’t ever go away
And in case you wondered
it kind of breaks my heart
that you know what this feels like
Dear friend of mine
I’m pretty heartbroken,
these days
Wouldn’t it be great
if those ghosts came back
to save us?
Wouldn’t it be great
if we could stop pretending
that those ghosts would come back
to save us?
Dear friend of mine
I’ll let you know
if you’ll let me know
when I figure out the art
of letting go
Because I can’t seem to remember the way,
these days
