I used to think that the place you slept was important. This was when the place I slept was always the same, when it was home. I geuss one of the things I learned growing up is that the place you sleep is just that. It’s a place where you close your eyes because you can’t keep them open anymore. It isn’t necessarily special or sacred…
But it can be. And you learn that too.
It is hot. Unbearably, stiflingly hot. It is humid and the sheets stick to my skin at every place they touch. I can feel your body as a heat source next to mine and I know that you, like me are lying with your eyes open staring at the ceiling. We are not touching at any point, but I know that if I moved my body a fraction of inch we could be.
The way we touch is always electric, too much heat, too fast, but tonight it would be too warm to even think about it and yet I know that you are. I contemplate the idea of my burning sweating skin against yours and as warm as I am at this moment, the thought is strangely pleasant. I consider my lips on yours and your hands on me and when I feel the tip of your toe come and touch, ever so slightly against mine, a small moan escapes my lips.
I know you are smiling in the darkness next to me and your toe still pressed against mine. And I can feel sleep coming the weight of eyes too tired to watch the dark. And I know that tomorrow when I wake up you’ll still be there. So I guess maybe it’s not the place you fall asleep that is so important, but sometimes the place you wake up is.