Before I Have to Learn to Sleep With a New Love
After my first love
I forgot how to sleep by myself.
Since him, I have forgotten how to sleep with someone.
The last and third boy I loved would wrap himself around me like a squid.
His hands held mine and his arm was my pillow.
Every inch of him touched any inch of me he could find.
His skin stuck to mine like a vinyl window cling on glass,
Without a single bubble.
I calmed down because his breathing forced me to.
He held me so tight I could not move.
Like a dog in a thunder jacket with my eyes closed
I would fall asleep because his body made mine.
My first love had been younger
He had to learn at the same time as me
And we found a pattern together
It worked so well we did it every night
For two years
You can understand why after that
I’d forgotten how to do it on my own.
My second love and I never shared a bed.
The space between one and three was punctuated by nights so short
I didn't have to learn again.
When you would fall asleep
I’d lay there awake and remind myself to breathe
I would panic that I could never learn
That I would be awake FOREVER.
I could feel how much of a stranger I was to you.
But slowly I learned again.
I learned how we fit together.
I learned how to make your nightmares quiet.
You learned how much I loved breakfast.
We learned that we slept at different times.
I remembered more things I’d forgotten.
Deciding who has to drive, what time do we eat,
Where do we eat, who showers first,
How often do we talk when we're not together,
Which friends do we see,
What kind of meat goes in the chili?
Now it doesn’t matter again.
And it’s only me in the bed again.
And there are lists of things I will forget.
Again.
turnnoffyourmind
prguitarman
gummygunk
