Insomniac

Insomniac

A Story by Bistrô Mental

Out of all the fantasies I lived, this was my most real one. And yet, here I was laying with my eyes closed on the very same bed that held us together so many times, almost as an accomplice or an alibi.

I could feel his alternating soft breathing on my neck and sleepy kisses that were either from an automatic mode or really the kisses from such a caress that needed not to be awake to receive or deliver. I choose the latter.

I held his arm against my chest looking for both protection and certainty. I wanted this to last much more than he (or even I, for that matter) could imagine. Smiling a lazy smile, I squeezed my eyes to fight against the room’s darkness and see his profile in deep sleep. I confess feeling a little envy, as I could not, and possibly would not, sleep any time soon.

I then decided to get up, take a breath, I mean, really try to breathe, walk around, feel my own body again. I went to the kitchen, swallowed a glass of cold water, shook my head, rubbed my head and circled my neck in a silly attempt to loosen the tension. I realised I only had another hour or so to sleep before the Wednesday showed itself to me and made all its demands.

I went to the living room and randomly chose a book from my own little private library, as I sweetly nicknamed it. I opened up in page 41 and read a rather interesting part:

“That evening Marie came by to see me and asked me if I wanted to marry her. I said it didn’t make any difference to me and that we could if she wanted to. Then she wanted to know if I loved her. I answered the same way I had the last time, that it didn’t mean anything but that I probably didn’t love her.”

I closed the book feeling sorry for Marie, a total stranger, yet a companion to me in my sleepless night. In return, I felt as a companion to Marie in her loveless life. I understood her for this had once happened to me. I held the book against me and whispered secret advices from my experience. I wanted Marie to be safe and wanted as I now felt. I needed to make her understand she too could and would find someone who deserved her, who would cherish her every day and also hold her tight in her sleepless nights. I spoke to her and found a new place for the book in the shelf, just as I hoped she would find a new way for her story. A happier ending.

I then ran upstairs to the bedroom, feeling joyful and in full ecstasy to know I had found my happy-ending. I carefully opened the bedroom door not to wake him up in a scare, but I was sure going to cover him up with kisses of such gratitude that he was there and then I would say I love you. I got the feeling I never said it enough and after my chat with Marie, I decided to make a small change. My face could not contain my smile.

When I laid in bed, a strange and cold sheet bitterly welcomed me. There was only one pillow. The bedside light was on. It took me a few minutes to understand and come to my senses. I cannot (and wish not to) remember when it was that my life did not have the happy-ending I had just wished for Marie. I remembered I was just like her: it had not mattered to him as well. And there I was, sleepless dreaming of something long gone, never to return.

 Out of the realities I had, this is my favourite, enduring, living fantasy.

flower

© 2014 Bistrô Mental


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Added on November 13, 2014
Last Updated on November 13, 2014

Author

Bistrô Mental
Bistrô Mental

About
The Bistrô... May my menu satisfy your thoughts, ideas and fill that little void that we so often mistake for hunger. Lick your fingers, smile, leave here satisfied with new reflections and p.. more..

Writing
Life Life

A Story by Bistrô Mental