𝑰𝑵𝑲 • 𝑻𝒆𝒘𝒌𝒆𝒔𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒚 / 𝑳𝒐𝒖𝒊𝒔 𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆

Take It Back

5 months ago

—————

Sometimes I look at you and get the impression

That I can read your mind, like I know how you feel

But staring at you now, I find I know nothing

That there's so much you hide, and struggle to conceal

—————

The air is still, unbothered, and yet holds on tightly to this invisible frost that chills my shoulders. Laid in bed, covered with a thin, quilted sheet, they stick out from the top. I always find that sleeping completely beneath something is never a good idea. You'll always wake up in a sweat, or at least an uncomfortable heat which just leads to you feeling unnecessarily sticky for the rest of the day.

A balance is required, whether it be a single leg, a hip, or both shoulders, some part of me always needs to be free to avoid the claustrophobia that often overcomes me in rest. There is, always the risk of catching a nasty cold but, a bit of cool air can be fixed with a slight unconscious adjustment in the night.

But I don't need to bother lingering on what I may or may not do in my sleep tonight. I don't believe I'll be getting much of it at all, if any. It's not so much an audible shuffle or snore that disturbs me, no frightening sounds or surprising and bothersome movement but rather a presence.

Knowing that he's there, equally uncomfortable and restless lying on the floor beside and below. Also knowing that he'll be there when I wake up, but that on the contrary seems quite comforting.

I won't be sleeping tonight, because I'm not tired. I no longer have any feelings of fatigue. And nothing about this is unusual for I feel this way every single time I'm with him. And it would be impossible for me to coherently explain how or why it happens. But he makes me feel naked.

Naked in the sense that I become empty, bare. He could ask anything from me and I'd do it in a heartbeat because, I just want him to like me, or even appreciate me. I just want to make him happy.

And it's as if I lose all ulterior motif. I am no longer in control of my own opinion or personal preferences. Everything he likes becomes what I like. Everything he wants to do becomes what I want to do most. And if he smiles, there's no question as to whether or not I'll send one back.

"Are you awake?" I hear him ask, his voice rising up from underneath my bed frame before reaching my ears. I roll over towards the edge of my mattress, dragging along my sheets and propping my head up on one hand. The moon shines through my window, illuminating his features as he pulls himself up to sit against the wall. His arms rest on his knees, fingers tapping against each other in what could either be interpreted as thought or nervousness.

I let him know that I'm there, awake enough to not only hear him but actually listen. A lot of the time he'll say things that maybe he doesn't mean, expecting others to understand the intention of his words when it's really quite impossible. I end up feeling helpless. It's what I imagine going abroad, to a country dominated by a language you don't happen to speak, would be like.

"Whats on your mind T." I whisper to him. A short phrase, but one that lets him know he can tell me the truth, without fear of being judged.

"The reason that um- that I was out drinking was because... I'm leaving Flo."

She's no longer looking at him, instead opting to stare blankly out the window. Still, she can see him turn to her in her peripheral, not to mention the sensation of his gaze on her skin. She doesn't know what she's supposed to say, relief washing over her when he picks up on this and resumes speaking.