It is ten minutes after four and I am more restless than anything else.
I always turn off the TV and the fan when you call. More importantly, the lights get turned off. The only light in my room is a blue one that streams out from the button on my computer, but even then it offers nothing but comfort- much like the darkness now does. Every now and then I will open my eyes, cast them about, and then close them again as if to assure myself that I am real and this conversation is real.
I occasionally change position on the bed, if I am tense I will prop my upper body up on my elbows and turn so I am leaning more on my right than my left. If I am worried I will lay on my left side, knees pulled towards my chest, one hand clutching the phone tightly and the other holding a fist full of my blanket. More often than not I am relaxed though. My left arm in an arc and my wrist pressed to my forehead. My right hand cupping the curve of my rib under my breast. My left leg laying flat, angled out towards the left and my right leg bent at the knee, my foot's arch pressed into the curve of my calf. I have only laid in this position with you, and as odd and uncomfortable as it might seem to outsiders... it is the only way I feel at rest. It feels natural. Each limb is infinitely pleased where it lays, and if I move my muscles protest against something that I draw so much solace from.
When the conversation ends and it is time to part, no matter the terms it always feels bittersweet. I take comfort in the silence to soak up the last words you said and the way your voice sounds, but then I feel a pang of loss at the absence of you. Even now, I feel the urge to be selfish and reach for you. I know I could, but I also know I would not be doing right by you if I did.
I don't know what it signifies. My mind is entirely too full, and in the chaos thoughts collide and from each collision I am left feeling simultaneously hot and cold. I have always prided myself in being able to break down matters like these and drag meaning from them, but for once I would rather let the meaning find me. I do not want to assign meaning to this. It is innately meaningful.
So I will crawl in bed, lay beneath the covers, close my eyes and remember in hopes that I will remember in the morning.
I always turn off the TV and the fan when you call. More importantly, the lights get turned off. The only light in my room is a blue one that streams out from the button on my computer, but even then it offers nothing but comfort- much like the darkness now does. Every now and then I will open my eyes, cast them about, and then close them again as if to assure myself that I am real and this conversation is real.
I occasionally change position on the bed, if I am tense I will prop my upper body up on my elbows and turn so I am leaning more on my right than my left. If I am worried I will lay on my left side, knees pulled towards my chest, one hand clutching the phone tightly and the other holding a fist full of my blanket. More often than not I am relaxed though. My left arm in an arc and my wrist pressed to my forehead. My right hand cupping the curve of my rib under my breast. My left leg laying flat, angled out towards the left and my right leg bent at the knee, my foot's arch pressed into the curve of my calf. I have only laid in this position with you, and as odd and uncomfortable as it might seem to outsiders... it is the only way I feel at rest. It feels natural. Each limb is infinitely pleased where it lays, and if I move my muscles protest against something that I draw so much solace from.
When the conversation ends and it is time to part, no matter the terms it always feels bittersweet. I take comfort in the silence to soak up the last words you said and the way your voice sounds, but then I feel a pang of loss at the absence of you. Even now, I feel the urge to be selfish and reach for you. I know I could, but I also know I would not be doing right by you if I did.
I don't know what it signifies. My mind is entirely too full, and in the chaos thoughts collide and from each collision I am left feeling simultaneously hot and cold. I have always prided myself in being able to break down matters like these and drag meaning from them, but for once I would rather let the meaning find me. I do not want to assign meaning to this. It is innately meaningful.
So I will crawl in bed, lay beneath the covers, close my eyes and remember in hopes that I will remember in the morning.
