Insomniac

Out of all the fantasies I lived, this was my most real one. And yet, here I was laying with my eyes closed on the very same bed that held us together so many times, almost as an accomplice or an alibi.

I could feel his alternating soft breathing on my neck and sleepy kisses that were either from an automatic mode or really the kisses from such a caress that needed not to be awake to receive or deliver. I choose the latter.

I held his arm against my chest looking for both protection and certainty. I wanted this to last much more than he (or even I, for that matter) could imagine. Smiling a lazy smile, I squeezed my eyes to fight against the room’s darkness and see his profile in deep sleep. I confess feeling a little envy, as I could not, and possibly would not, sleep any time soon.

I then decided to get up, take a breath, I mean, really try to breathe, walk around, feel my own body again. I went to the kitchen, swallowed a glass of cold water, shook my head, rubbed my head and circled my neck in a silly attempt to loosen the tension. I realised I only had another hour or so to sleep before the Wednesday showed itself to me and made all its demands.

I went to the living room and randomly chose a book from my own little private library, as I sweetly nicknamed it. I opened up in page 41 and read a rather interesting part:

“That evening Marie came by to see me and asked me if I wanted to marry her. I said it didn’t make any difference to me and that we could if she wanted to. Then she wanted to know if I loved her. I answered the same way I had the last time, that it didn’t mean anything but that I probably didn’t love her.”

I closed the book feeling sorry for Marie, a total stranger, yet a companion to me in my sleepless night. In return, I felt as a companion to Marie in her loveless life. I understood her for this had once happened to me. I held the book against me and whispered secret advices from my experience. I wanted Marie to be safe and wanted as I now felt. I needed to make her understand she too could and would find someone who deserved her, who would cherish her every day and also hold her tight in her sleepless nights. I spoke to her and found a new place for the book in the shelf, just as I hoped she would find a new way for her story. A happier ending.

I then ran upstairs to the bedroom, feeling joyful and in full ecstasy to know I had found my happy-ending. I carefully opened the bedroom door not to wake him up in a scare, but I was sure going to cover him up with kisses of such gratitude that he was there and then I would say I love you. I got the feeling I never said it enough and after my chat with Marie, I decided to make a small change. My face could not contain my smile.

When I laid in bed, a strange and cold sheet bitterly welcomed me. There was only one pillow. The bedside light was on. It took me a few minutes to understand and come to my senses. I cannot (and wish not to) remember when it was that my life did not have the happy-ending I had just wished for Marie. I remembered I was just like her: it had not mattered to him as well. And there I was, sleepless dreaming of something long gone, never to return.

 Out of the realities I had, this is my favourite, enduring, living fantasy.