It's 4:30am.
I'm in my bed, under the covers, with my teddy bear next to me, trying to fall asleep, and failing.
I'm cold.
The tips of my fingers and toes feel like they've been injected with novacane.
The pile of blankets on top of me isn't working, neither is the radiator, neither is the teal lace nightgown. I should have worn flannel.
I'm shivering so much; it feels like my entire body is experiencing restless leg syndrome.
It looks like I'm having a seizure.
I miss the warmth coming off of another body. The warmth of companionship before bed. Curled up next to you, or in your arms. It's like a little furnace, or campfire on top of your body, keeping you warm throughout the night without burning you. Red/orange coals still smoldering on your chest and back in the morning.
But, tonight, I'm cold and lonely.
I turn the radio on, lower the volume, and tune it to a soft rock station in an attempt to fall asleep. The music coming through the speakers sounds like coordinated whispers singing a secret song for people who can hear really well. Good listeners.
I close my eyes.
Tonight, I'm cold and lonely.
My two cats got locked in my mom's room for the night.
No comments:
Post a Comment