Tag: somnolence

i could never fall asleep easily around them.

one time i stared wide-eyed at the ceiling through midnight until his alarm rang. when i studied him, basking in the warmth of the golden hour, he seemed to be having a pleasant dream: maybe life was sweeter for him there. back in reality, all that was left for me to do was envy him.

i think that one sleeps soundly when there’s nothing to worry about.

another time we stayed up until it was warm; i was talking at him throughout, at a pace so frenetic it was as if i already knew that we would never see each other again. i couldn’t sleep, even with the additional melatonin in my blood. i did have a lot i wanted to share, but now i wonder if it was also because i didn’t feel comfortable enough to let the silence settle in between us. it adds up, because i can no longer remember what we said, only what was left unsaid.

as someone who’s had insomnia all her life, falling asleep easily is a blessing. a perfect descent is like wading into a warm ocean with the scent of home around you. deceptively light at first, a heaviness weighs you down until you realise you’re sinking to the point of no return: it conquers you whether you embrace or resist it. but it’s easier to let go with someone — if you trust that they’ll eventually pull you back to the surface to breathe again.

maybe they knew, maybe they didn’t — either way, i don’t think they cared.

i’ve joined them now. these days, i burrow into my blanket and hug my bolster tight. for sure, doing so can’t replicate the affections of a drowsy lover. but it is nice in its own way: nestled away in my cocoon, sometimes — just sometimes — i hear the sound of the waves and nothing else.