I can't sleep. You've fallen asleep in my bed, next to me. And I can't sleep. I lie awake. But not wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, perhaps more of a wide-eyed and…thought/remorse/regret FULL.
You were cold. I got out of bed and got you my down throw that I heart. I put it on you and tucked you into…my bed. So sweet and peaceful you lay there. Innocent and absent. I don't get it and I can't sleep.
My mind is racing. The song by CAKE comes to mind – "He's racing and pacing and plotting the course / He's fighting and bighting and riding on his horse / He's going the distance." What does this have to do with you? I ask this of myself as I type this (due to the nature of this writing).
Well, Gosh! The first line of this piece stands out because of the nature of 'racing.' With you I feel as though I am racing against time, against life, against you. Thus, it is probably the latter that keeps me going because once upon a time I was 'plotting the course.'
In your old apartment (which happens to be a mere three doors down – no pun to the band, as I speak of a bunch of bands the way these words go - from mine currently where you snore) I will never forget the day you swept me off my feet. You made Espresso Martinis - and I still want the recipe - that we drank with Pirouettes and delight. Oh once upon a time…
You came back in from the kitchen. Why you were there I can't recall; nor does it matter. You came through the threshold to your bedroom, swept me off my barstool, and we danced. We danced in your doorway to the song that I've always wanted to have someone to dance to with. I fell.
Two weeks prior you asked my permission to kiss me. I thought I fell. After the dance, I knew I had only skinned my knees the first time.
Oh once upon a time!
What gets me – why I am up and you've been sleeping for almost an hour now – is everything between now and then. Sprinkled with much more of the NOW like cinnamon on my chai.
If only I could take the two of you and mush you together like the bumble bee in the old repetitious song.
Though I complained that you only call me when you're drunk (which eludes another song that friends said I should make your ring tone – once upon a time), I cannot think of anything I would give up for our talks, our honesty, and dare I say our love. Love, not in the romantic sense but, in the real – here –for –life sense.
We've always said we were friends-for-life, ever since you introduced me to the idea. I couldn't love you more, nor could I hate you more. And thus, I can't sleep.
- I've surpassed my goal, reached my limit, and wait for Day 3 -
Who is your friend-for-life? WHY?
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