15 April 2012

Because I Can't Sleep (and You're Not Here)


It's five thirty am
I am sitting in on the couch almost naked
I feel like I should be doing something productive
Like sleeping
Or maybe eating
I need to clean up
And buy food – more food
I need to do lots of things

I'm wishing that you were here with me
Because then I wouldn't be writing this
I would be sleeping beside you
Curled up and peaceful
Or maybe stretched out like the cat
Things would be okay then
Because I would feel warm
And maybe a little fuzzy inside

It's almost light outside
Sleeping seems like a redundant thought
I hope the sun will shine today
Then I might go outside again
And actually appreciate the niceness
I might just make a sandwich
And get on the bus
And go to the loch
And write things that are nicer than this

I'm wishing you were here even more
Because I could wake you and tell you
That we're going to sit by the water's edge
And watch the sunlight reflect off the ripples
Of the freezing loch waters
And write things and talk about the things that we write
And then you could hold me when it gets too cold
And I would feel happier than I feel just now

I'm not sure what I would do if you were here
I would laugh and maybe cry and maybe kiss you
Because those are the kinds of things I do
And you would laugh because I am crying
And I would laugh because you are laughing
And I like to see you laugh
I would like it if we were laughing together
While we sit by the loch and drink tea
From a thermos – I feel like that should have
A Capital Letter T

It is almost six am now
It feels like I've wasted twenty minutes
Trying to make sense
And I still don't feel any better
And you're still not here
I think I might just sleep now
It seems better than going out in the cold

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