Slumber

Other nights, when I tell someone how I want to sleep with them, I don’t mean the you-know-what connotation of sleeping with someone. These other nights, all I want is to have someone to sleep with, beside me, us two fitted perfectly, as if our anatomy were intertwined parts of a whole jigsaw puzzle. All I want is to share the warmth of a blanket, have someone under the covers during a cold rainy night.

Other nights, I want to feel the comfort of someone’s breath brushing against my fragile skin, afraid of direct contact yet the need to feel is indispensably felt almost every dying night. These other nights, all I want is for someone to be with me without minutely thoughts of making out, of making love. All I want is someone to share the lonely night with, feel how perfect loneliness could be with someone else, and feel how being alone together can make you brush of aloneness, fleetingly, desperately.