The Insomniac

It's almost 3 a.m. I've had trouble sleeping these past few days.

It seems that I have forgotten how, in the space of three weeks, to sleep if you're not next to me, at least close to me. Just a handspan, a phone call, a few streets away.

I miss the curl of your body against mine, the way the sine curve of my body fit perfectly against yours, like a puzzle piece slotting into place, and the way your arm feels wrapped around my body, pulling me closer. I miss the feel of your skin on mine., and how you let me warm my toes on your feet. The time passes slower without you here to speed my heart, and the sun seems too bright.

I smoke more, when I think of you, because the smell of cloves brings you closer somehow. (As a result, stocks have taken a sudden nosedive.)

And everything I do is marked by your absence. The things I do, I cannot share with you, the things I haven't had a chance to tell you about.

My heart stutters every time I get an email, or at the words we exchange over MSN. Our conversations seem intolerably far apart, and it's always bittersweet because much as I am delighted to hear your voice, I am disappointed that you are not in front of me, telling me in person, and that we talk about our separate lives. It's like I've been living in a twinned skin with you, and now suddenly we've been cut apart and a side of me that you kept safe is exposed, raw and unprotected against the ache of missing you.

And on nights like tonight, even though I fought for this for years and even though I'm usually made of sterner stuff, I feel like saying "to hell with it" and flying home because that's where you are. I said before I left that I didn't know if this was worth it if it meant losing you, and I meant it. But only time will tell.

The time cannot pass fast enough, baby.