Sheltering sky

Tears on my pillow

Brett was taken to hospital yesterday.

And I don't even know what to do with myself. I'm so desperate.
I could feel it welling in on me the second I entered the door when I was back here.
The turmoil inside me. Restlessness, a state of stress, I don't know.
A huge black area unfolding, spreading, a kind of an itchy feeling which he is the only one to ease.

Here I am, in bed, but I can't sleep.
It's not fucking possible. My body craves tossing and turning. I can't stop it.
He's not here.

I've had a drink.
Or 2.
Maybe even 3.
I don't remember.
I don't even drink.
Usually.
But I was chasing that warm, calm, sleepy feeling. I needed a consolation of some sort. I needed something to calm my nerves. Something to stop my head from spinning, my legs from aching and my arms from windmilling.
It didn't help, only got me even more worked up.

I'm relieved but I'm not.
It's good to know that someone's taking care of him.

I took him to the SGH. It's supposed to be the best hospital on this island. Singapore is known to have some of the best doctors in the world. And the best health care system as well, so it won't be too expensive. As if that even matters. I can afford it anyways, if not, I  I'd happily whore myself out if I have to. I don't know if he'd appreciate me fucking for money, but whatever it takes.
He's getting treated by the very best.
He's in safe hands. That's the only thing that matters.
Come what may!
But I'm going crazy from not having him by my side, not knowing exactly how he feels.
I don't know when to call or even text him. Maybe he's sleeping or resting. He's not been able to do much else these last couple of weeks.

He called me last night.
No, I didn't sleep last night either.
I was trying to calm my own nerves listening to Debussy.
He's my go-to-composer.
Music is the only thing that gets my mind off of everything else.
Unlike most people seem to believe, I don't listen to Debussy all the time. I enjoy exploring all kinds of music, really. I like jazz. Pop even.
But right now that would've been too much for me. I can't focus on it anyway.
Debussy always fills me with a kind of strange, but good, inner peace.

But like I said, he called me. I was all stretched out on the sofa, focussing on my breathing to try calm down my heartbeats.
-I love you, he said. That was all. And in that very moment my whole universe turned upside down, everything went into a mess. Chaos.
I nodded and tried to speak. I love you too!
I love him so deeply, so much it hurts. So much I only started crying. I wasn't able to say anything at all.
He heard me crying. That was all I could give him. I should have told him I love him back. I wish I could have said "same" at least. That would have been something!
But I couldn't.
All my love, all my worry and desperation choked me.
Is this normal?
Is loving someone so much it only makes you cry, a thing?
At least I wrote him a text. Telling him how I felt.
-I understand ❤
He told me he understands...

How the hell is he so fucking perfect???

After that interaction with him last night, I had to feel some fresh air to my face. I felt red and swollen. Hot. I had to breathe.
I went out on the balcony. We live high up. I can see the whole, bustling city down there.
Singapore skyline.
Did you know Singapore actually means the city of lions?
Someone told me, I don't remember who.
Down there... 5,6 millions of different lives. Living cut off from mine. People sleeping, breathing, making love, some of them maybe even arguing.
It makes me dizzy thinking about it.
Someone was yelling at someone down there. A horn was honking. A trail of red lights, cars moving.
I felt like a stranger. An alien.
A stranger in a strange place where I didn't belong.
I always feel that way, but at the same time I feel home every where as long as I have Brett next to me.
Having him there would probably even make me feel at home in the middle of a desert. Or in the middle of the south pole even!
But now everything feels unfamiliar to me.
Even this apartment, there are traces of him everywhere.
But he is not here, and that makes everything look so different.

I feel like a kid who lost his mum at the mall. Except if someone asks me my name or my address, I don't think I'll be able to tell them.
I feel all alone in this whole fucking world right now.
I didn't know I was this dependent on him.
I hope I'm not.
Usually I enjoy my own company. I like being home alone. But this is really taking it's toll on me.

I'm worried about him. That's why.
I'm worried sick. I'm about to lose it because I don't know the outcome of this.

And I feel so lonely!
Sure, I've got friends but I just can't deal with them right now.
Too much noise. Too many voices.
And everybody's asking how he is. How are the prognosis? Is he gonna make it, what's wrong with him, and so on.
So many questions and I've got no answers to give them.
I don't even want to think about the answers.
All their worry only drains me out. I can't take it.
I feel awful too!! But all they want is to talk about him. At least I think so.
Some fans told me to take care of myself. If some fans did, I'm sure my friends would as well. But I don't even remember, maybe they actually did. Still I'm here, complaining. I'm so ungrateful!
Brett is the one I should feel sorry for, not myself!
Yet I do.
I don't know if yabbing about how I feel would help that much anyway. It would probably only make me sweat and feel exhausted. And my friends would think I'm an a-hole.
Instead I am waddling around here in this empty apartment, crying my eyes and heart and pretty much everything out, because I feel so sorry for myself.

God, I'm dizzy! My neck is tensing up, and there's nobody here to rub it.
I need Brett's warm, kind hands!

I played his violin, I don't know why. Maybe I for a second imagined to myself he was kind of in there. Inside the body of the instrument.
I somehow thought I would feel closer to him.
Oh my God, now I'm actually going crazy. Like, really!
Clearly!
I' ll end up in hospital myself. In the psych ward.

Ok, I'll send him a text. I need to know how he is.

I just sent it. I asked how he is, and I told him I love him.

He hearted me back. No text, just one tiny heart.
I love that little red, animated heart more than anything right now.
But I still don't know how he is. He didn't tell me!
Is that an answer by it self?
Maybe he feels too sick, he can't even write me a couple of words?
I wish I could go there! But it's getting late. I can't.
You're not supposed or even allowed to go to the hospital any time of day, anytime you want.

Loving him through all his pains is so heartbreaking.

How many tears can a pillowcase take?
Does anybody know?
I should have changed it, but I can't, it smells of Bretts hair.
I love his hair.
I brought with me one of his hoodies in bed. I took it from the laundry basket.
I feel so filthy, so dirty, so... less of a human.
To my defense he only used it once. Or maybe twice.
He spilled some boba on it. It reeks of him. A blissful mix of boba, new sweat, deodorant, and a light perfume.
Like BRETT.

Oh God, I'm actually going crazy.
Like, REALLY!

I hate the fact that Brett is the only person, only thing, that can make me so vulnerable, the only one who can tilt me so out of my control, as if he turns my whole inner world upside down.
He is the only one that can make me feel like I'm going out of my skin from any feeling there is.
And I love it. I love it equally as much as I hate it.
Because Brett shows me a world of feelings, emotions, experiences, inside me, that I didn't even know existed.
He really makes me feel whole.

I need him to recover.
I need my shelter. My sky.