Sing me to sleep
Sing me to sleep
I don’t want to wake up on my own anymore
I dreamt about Laura; a tall, strong and cute German woman I met at my best friend’s wedding, back in 2019. Not much happened between us in the real world. We talked, I flirted, we drank and danced and she lifted me up in her muscular arms, in the middle of the dance floor. Everybody laughed, me the most. I loved every second of it. So when the music was over and everyone headed to bed, I made a move and stole a kiss from her. But she didn’t react at all to it, so I immediately apologized, feeling like fucking Harvey Weinstein himself. “I’m so sorry, I misread the signs!” I exclaimed, mortified. “Did I punch you?,” she asked, smirking, and then made her way downstairs. “It was alright,” she said, looking up, before disappearing in the darkness of the living room.
But the dream was different. We were together, as boyfriend and girlfriend, for some reason traveling with my best friends from Chile in Egypt. We had great chemistry and kissed and hugged a lot, but she was a bit of a bitch and my friends hated her for not following the plans they made for the trip. We fought a lot too. And at some point, my ex C appeared in the picture. She just showed up in our hotel and came to say hi, as I was arguing with Laura. My… girlfriend, I guess, got pissed and jealous at C. “We are very good friends,” I told her, but she just scoffed and left. In all honesty, I felt very good to see my ex there. When Laura had left, I talked with C. I had this very heartwarming feeling within, of closeness and familiarity. “Why are you with her,” she asked me. I was ashamed. “I don’t know. It seems I always go for women who hurt me,” I replied.
I woke up in the middle of the night. C was still in my mind. Perhaps she made it into my dream because I checked my blog stats yesterday and I had a visit from her (I believe,) coming from Copenhagen. “Is she here?” I wondered. Maybe it was a glitch from Google Analytics. Or wishful thinking. I left my phone on and online all night, hoping that she would write me past 2 AM, drunk. “I’m downstairs. Can I sleep over?” But the text never came. I just slept like shit, on and off. Having weird dreams and hugging the pillow she used when she stayed the night. Other times. Somewhat more horrible, yet nicer than the nowadays.
It’s been forever since I don’t sleep with anyone. Specially, not in the nice “chasing each other all night under the sheets” kind of way. Lately, my 160 larger and fancier bed is 70% empty throughout the week. I stay on my side of the mattress, turning to which used to be her side, her empty pillow very tight against my chest.
“My self-esteem is much better, and I’m really taking myself seriously. Money is good, career is going well, my busted ankle haven’t given me shit the whole year. But I feel alone. I’ve grown so much since I started seeing you, but there’s no one there to witness it. I’m top shelf, I know that now, but I’m just collecting dust up there… I’m tired of being single,” I finally say, frustrated.
“We need to work on that then. It’s time,” my therapist responds.
I smile, hopeful that -soon enough,- 100% of my new bed’s capacity will finally be occupied.