Sleep

I love sleep. 

I love sleep more than I love a lot of other things.

I love the delicious, heavy feeling of sleep. I love waking up from a very deep and comforting sleep, only slightly, realizing I don't have to get up yet, and drifting back down into my slumber. Falling asleep feels like the most heavenly type of sinking. Sand drifting to the bottom of a glass of water. A mermaid, relaxing her whole body and just free floating all the way 

down, down, down

to whatever deep and pillowy home awaits her at the bottom of the sea.

Sleep is dark and warm, like chocolate, or a hug.

It is heavy and dense. It comes down on top of you like a full winter blanket, and weights you down to the bed so you do not float away.

Sleep is solid, and it anchors you lovingly.

In sleep you can explore your whole mind, in the course of only a few hours. You can recall that house you lived in when you were four, that boy you had a crush on in 3rd grade, that old fear you have of milk, or Freddie Kruger, or wild dogs.

You can do anything in dreams. Cloaked in the silky fabric of a good sleep.

I despise bedtimes for adult people. I hate the idea of "going to bed early" to prepare for an event the next day. I long to live in a world where we can sleep when we wish. Nap for a few minutes at 10 in the morning, or for hours in the middle of the day. Go to bed when you feel sleepy, rise when you feel rested and ready.

Unrealistic, surely.

But a girl can dream.

There are days when I find myself awaiting sleep from the time I wake up.

Longing for it like a distant lover. Wishing the day would pass quickly so I could be done with my chores and responsibilities and return to bed.

There are days when my eyes are so heavy, as soon as my children are in bed I am fast asleep as well. 

At their bedside, in the bathtub, on the couch with the T.V. flickering and playing shadow puppets on my body.

But there are nights when sleep escapes me.

When sleep is as elusive and distant as the moon, a cool jewel somewhere in the distance that knows it is desired, but will not present itself. 

I toss and turn in bed

Look at books with bleary eyes

Pick up and put down my pen over and over.

But mostly on those nights

{like tonight}

I think of you.

I wonder: if you were here, would I be able to sleep?

Is this restlessness a testament to the empty side of my bed?

Is this useless turning all my way of burning off the longing that lives inside my chest?

And I wonder if you will ever really be here...on the left side of the bed, warm and sleepy and made of love.

If you will ever be as constant in my days and nights as the rising and falling of the moon or the sun.

Will I ever turn on my side and know you will be there?

Will I ever be able to wake you in the night and complain of my sleeplessness, to have you hold my head to your chest and recite Alice in Wonderland

{only my favorite part}

Until my eyes are heavy and sleep finally takes me?

Or will every sleepless night, forever after, consist of me haunting these halls and saying your name, and wondering whether your simple presence, your mere existence in this creaking house, whether that would cure my pacing, and bring me

Sleep.