Wonders of a misunderstood night

This is the story and frustrations of last night.

I waited on a bed that felt frozen by the early morning air. I laid under the thick quilt knowing that air would pierce my skin. I waited with my eyes closed and have a fake conversation in my heart. “What’s up? It’s so early. Oh, i’m just waiting for hubby to come back to bed.” And you did. You came back to bed and you smelled of smoke. Your skin so cold. Look at that sleepy face. Look at your bed head. Damn it, your hands are cold. I pretend to be asleep and as I toss into a comfortable-looking position seconds before your re-entrance, the blanket slips off me. F**k, that’s cold too. The wind hits me and it’s as harsh as I imagined. The door squeaks closed and I pretend not to hear it, I pretend not to hear your tired body come in and lay next to me. What a symbolic and intense relief it was for you to cover me up completely. At last. You laid so close to me and stirred me out of my half unconsciousness and I flutter my plain eyelashes open and look at you. You didn’t say a word and I didn’t either. I closed my eyes again and you cuddled in closer. I sigh in contentment. Oh my best friend. Don’t go for anymore smoke breaks. 

I’m troubled in the thought that I wasn’t able to rest. In such a comfortable bed, it’s a little too cold but that’s nothing I hadn’t overcome before. It’s a little too dry but I lived in what felt like a cool dessert for days earlier in my life. I’m exhausted. You are my favorite. How could I lay in such content conditions so sleepily and lay so awake. How could I lay awake in your arms on an expensive bed? Why wasn’t I able to sleep soundly and gorgeously? Why was I miserable. My mind talks to me and says “put your arms around his sleeping body, it’ll make you feel better.” And I did, and it did. But in these positions I couldn’t breathe. Our bones would uncomfortably stab together. I would be exposed to the winter air. Something. Something was there that made me so damn uncomfortable to the point that a tired body could not find rest. How f*****g queer. I’m frustrated by the thought. Maybe my mind is manufacturing things unnecessary. 

Who am I to believe that though? Who am I to let things slide because maybe it’s the way of the world. Maybe it’s a human hitch. That is not me. Destiny provokes me often. Fate rouses me. Things that happen for a reason with something big behind it. The kind of s**t written on those paper scrolls or inside of a cookie. I am not one to believe that my mind makes worries up. I am not one to believe that maybe it just happens. That there is no rhyme or reason. Nor am I a "why" person. I do not wonder why at science or anatomy. I do not wonder why at broken things or confusing things. Although when I am challenged. When confusing something occurs in my life. All I can ask myself, the world, God, is why.