when words and sleep evade you.
Despite my every effort, he still comes to me at night.
Anybody who knows me is aware of my fame as an insomniac. I don’t dislike sleeping – in fact, I enjoy slipping into my mini-comas every now and then, oblivious to phone calls, text messages, fire alarms…yet while most take solace in their slumber, when the Sandman comes and carries me off to Dreamland, far too often a van full of my ghosts comes along for the ride.
One in particular.
And thus, I sleep enough to function, most of the time, as to experience as infrequently as possible the cold reality that he isn’t there when I wake up.
It’s a little terrifying, how so much can change, yet such a great deal cannot be changed. There is no amount of conscious exercise that can force him out of my thoughts, out of my core, and especially out of my dreams. To sleep is to lose control over what one is thinking – and it exposes me to things that I would rather not experience, and would prefer not to relive. But again, I am not the dictator over the nightly performances, and therefore am unable to control the course of the play as I am when awake. At least now, I can push him out temporarily from time to time. I can submerge myself in my work, in a book, or in music, and he will subside for a time. His sunlight may be obscured by a cloud, but he’ll be back before long with a change in the wind.
It’s going on two years now since we last came face to face in a substantial way. We had recently mended things after one of our routine and hardly uncommon ‘big fights’, and thus while no longer screaming obscenities at one another, the tension between our personas was still palpable. Near the end, both of us were (are) rather fiesty, always right, and always with one hand on the lever that would unleash the lions. However, the explosion between us prior to our last evening had been more hurtful than some of the others, and I believe that we both had our doubts as to whether or not the bridge could be mended yet again. We were willing to try, though it remained to be seen whether or not this would actually come to pass.
In retrospect, that final night was unlike any other that we had spent together in the entire duration of our relationship-turned-friendship-turned-relationship, I feel because he and I both knew that we had reached the end of the road with one another. Our little beater-car of love, that had weathered so many storms and had brought us as far as it could, had finally broken down, and now it was time to leave it by the side of the road to rust. What I hadn’t been aware of was the shiny new car that he already had waiting to give him a lift, and that I was to be left to thumb a ride back to civilization with whoever would feel sorry enough for me to stop.
The conversation was empty, bordering on formal courtesy. Our banter and interactions with one another were hollow and polite. We had gone from being so intrinsically intertwined to complete strangers, and it had caught us both off guard. Suddenly, neither of us knew how to act towards or treat one another. It is a pathetic end to our story, not because of the style of its ending, but because we both had allowed and even oversaw its writing. It did us no justice, and without justice, it’s hard to sleep peacefully at night. When I left his place, I knew that there was no need to state that it was over, as we had said it without words. The contact stopped entirely and we haven’t spoken to one another since.
Now I find myself preparing to move half way across the country. I’m leaving my native province behind and looking to start anew, and yet all I can think about is how my last memory of he and I will be sitting together on his bed at a loss for words. I wrote him directly when my departure became official, asking if he could find the time to get together for a coffee or a drive or anything at all before I leave. That was several months ago now, and to date I have not received a response. Truthfully, I don’t think I had been expecting one, but I’ve spent every day since I hit ’send’ hoping for one, with all my heart. He played such a large role in my life here that I know leaving it on such a note will continue to haunt me, no matter where in the world I am residing.
Thus, I am riding out my dwindling days on this island, sleeping very little and counting down to my divorce from a place that has been my home all my life. And while, in one sense, the story of he and I remains painfully incomplete, it is becoming increasingly clear with each passing day, and with each passing hour of the sleepless night, that the chapter is, most definitively, closed.
Farewell and sweet dreams, my Rose. Be it in flesh or in sleep, I’ll be seeing you soon either way.
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