April 7, 2011

After my last breakup I couldn’t sleep alone.
My full-size bed had somehow grown into a California king and
I couldn’t touch both edges at the same time without it feeling empty.
My girlfriends took turns staying over and having movie marathons to
fill the silence and kick me every so often in my sleep to remind me that
someone was there.
And we slept.

Time passed and I remembered how to sleep alone.
Spread-eagle on my stomach, arms outstretched,
enjoying the vastness of my private property.
I ate toast in bed.
Now if I climb under the sheets with someone I’m suddenly restless
a tangle of spagetti limbs
I can’t sleep next to you
You refuse to sleep with me anymore
as you’ve realized it’s not about the constant tossing and turning
or the claustrophobia that comes with wrapping your arms around someone
and burrowing into the back of their neck.
it’s about the false sense of intimacy, the trust that comes with sharing your bed
having to tell where i am based on touch instead of sight,
eyes closed.
it’ll take weeks before we sleep comfortably.

we don’t sleep together anymore and I feel like I’m about to be short sheeted.


One Response to “Sleepover”

  1. michelle mcswain photography said


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