(no subject)
I'd prefer to just keep my tired eyes open, to stay semi-alert into the night, the early morning hours, as I usually do. If I weren't feeling quite so tired I'd sit up just thinking of you, letting thoughts drift in and out of my mind. I'd delay a trip into my dreams if it meant that you'd be here to hold, be there to comfort my swirling memories. I've had my dreams custom-made by your hands. I don't want to sleep, I don't want to leave, I don't want to let go.
I'm afraid to let go where I can't hear you, see you, touch you, convince myself your body still exists in this place. The moment each night as I still lay awake realizing I have lost that touch hurts more than anything. the moment we say goodbye I sit awake for a while
in fear, in fear of losing you, again, as I have too many times before. I sit awake and worry and think and remember and hurt.
I die young. I always do. and usually violently. that is why the bed meant so much to me then. at least I found a peaceful death.
but I hate to leave you for a moment, even if we are both exhausted and upset and everything, at least I can feel your continued existence. when we leave for sleep I have no reassurance of your life, until the morning when I return to you, or you me. leaving terrifies me. so here I sit, until the moment I cannot possibly remain awake a moment longer, long after my body has shut down and screams for rest only when my mind is too beaten and bruised and broken to continue existing for the day can I sleep. only after thoughts shatter into a million tiny splinters, only when my eyes go so I cannot see my words or thoughts here, only when my arms twitch
too much to move, only when my body breaks and can no longer move, can I get past the fear enough to sleep. then, at that moment I fall in bed, alone, for you are miles away, at that moment, my only thought as my poisoned brain spirals towards the abyss only then can I sleep. and when I do sleep. I fall asleep to be with you. I fall asleep to grasp what connection I can, in a dream. All I want from sleep is you.
I'm afraid to let go where I can't hear you, see you, touch you, convince myself your body still exists in this place. The moment each night as I still lay awake realizing I have lost that touch hurts more than anything. the moment we say goodbye I sit awake for a while
in fear, in fear of losing you, again, as I have too many times before. I sit awake and worry and think and remember and hurt.
I die young. I always do. and usually violently. that is why the bed meant so much to me then. at least I found a peaceful death.
but I hate to leave you for a moment, even if we are both exhausted and upset and everything, at least I can feel your continued existence. when we leave for sleep I have no reassurance of your life, until the morning when I return to you, or you me. leaving terrifies me. so here I sit, until the moment I cannot possibly remain awake a moment longer, long after my body has shut down and screams for rest only when my mind is too beaten and bruised and broken to continue existing for the day can I sleep. only after thoughts shatter into a million tiny splinters, only when my eyes go so I cannot see my words or thoughts here, only when my arms twitch
too much to move, only when my body breaks and can no longer move, can I get past the fear enough to sleep. then, at that moment I fall in bed, alone, for you are miles away, at that moment, my only thought as my poisoned brain spirals towards the abyss only then can I sleep. and when I do sleep. I fall asleep to be with you. I fall asleep to grasp what connection I can, in a dream. All I want from sleep is you.