An eastward facing window woke me this morning with the help of my friend, the silent sun. Not that I needed much help waking up. I'm a pro at waking up—I must have done it five or ten times since I fell asleep.
I slept next to Theresa last night. I'd been craving sleeping next to her ever since our night together in Santa Barbara in June. What happened that night that hooked me? What made sleeping next to her so memorable? There wasn't kissing or the dancing of fingertips across skin. There wasn't heat or passion. There was just sleeping. She held me and we slept, arms entangled, like I imagine we may have done eleven years ago when our bodies were younger and more intimate, when we used to do so much more than sleep. (But, I can't really remember how it was then. It was so long ago and so much has happened since then.)
Many others things happened during my short visit to Santa Barbara in June. Theresa and I spoke for hours and we laughed and swam and drove and ate. Mostly I constantly observed how much I enjoyed her company. Not that I expected I wouldn't. I was just pleasantly surprised at how often I found myself thinking this person from my past is so comfortable and warm for me to be around.
But, in the weeks that would follow I found myself putting my arms around a pillow each night. What a strange thing for me to do! It's hardly my style. I normally like to feel unencumbered when I sleep—light, free. I prefer to sleep alone.
Yet, some part of me has longed for something during the recent weeks—something that surfaced while I slept. Was it safety I longed for? Or, was it affection or love? It wasn't just one thing, yet the feeling also wasn't strong enough for me to be able to pinpoint the need. A pillow would have to suffice, although it didn't. The thirst wasn't quenched.
Weeks passed before I noticed my new behavior. Since when was I the kind of person that wanted someone to sleep next to? I found that it made me feel weak, and I hated admitting it to myself.
Weak or not, it felt wonderful to sleep with my arms around my old friend. It satisfied the longing. But the thing about longings is that they are often like hunger—they can only be sated for so long before they return again.
PREVIOUS ENTRY - NEXT ENTRY