On Nights Like These

on nights like these i go to sleep with some unease. i curl up in bed, close my eyes and succumb to vivid imagination; i can almost feel his lips on my cheek and on my neck. we’re holding hands. sometimes i crawl on top of him while he’s sleeping and kiss him a few hundred times on his lips, on his face, on his forehead, on his chest. and even though he’s fallen asleep, he always wakes up to kiss me back. then we’ll fall asleep again together still holding hands. but sooner or later i’ll have to open my eyes and remember that i’m only imagining everything. he’s not here and i’m not there. we made love once in my bedroom and it was the sweetest thing ever. i could cry just thinking about it. my blue and white bedsheets remember him and they remember how they like him; they like the hard contours of his body and his scent and his skin, and they always giggle with glee and welcome him warmly whenever he returns. rare as his visits are, each one means a lot. and everytime he goes, he leaves his delicious martian scent behind on my pillows and in my duvet, and for a few nights after that it’s almost as if he’s here with me, and i can wrap my arms and legs around him and kiss him and hold him. it’s a little bit like cheating myself, i know, but i’m in love, and people in love do desperate things.

we’re not together anymore though. havent been for a while. i am here once more in this post-breakup phase where i find half of myself gone, and in its place is a jagged-edge nothingness of futility and cruel destiny and memories of ass-grabbing space invasion.

May 8th, 2007