#sleepingtodream

Sometimes I lay in my bed, surrounded by complete darkness, about to destroy my ears from the vibrating silence filling my head.  Sometimes I can mentally map out your bedroom, your old one.  The room I learned to call my home, my safe haven.  The golden warmth it emitted, like sprinkling chamomile landing gently in my pores.  I form the image.  All the colors, your red comforter, the tan walls, the wood floor, the dark wood of your dresser, the black interior of the hole you punched in the wall.  It's all there as my head is sunken into my pillow, eyes sealed shut.  And in that moment of still time, I am there.  I am laying in your bed, under the covers, next to you.  I can feel your hot skin plastered against mine.  I can smell you.  Feel you underneath the palms of my small hands.  I can exhale and feel myself encased in hot breath as it bounced off your neck.  I taste the metal of your necklace as I held it in my teeth so it wouldn't get in the way.  I feel the texture of your hair as I glide my fingers through it.  Because that calms you down.  Because that's how your mother calmed you down as a child.  I feel the mattress sink in different spots as Mavrick jumped into bed with us, claiming his spot, turning in circles before curling up in a ball to exhale deeply.  I smell the scent of six vanilla candles burning, projecting huge shadows that dance against your wall.  I feel you breathe.  I hear you breathe.  I watch your slightly parted lips dry up with every unconscious inhale you involuntarily take.  I kiss your lips.  I wet them with my tongue.  I kiss your forehead and it almost burns my lips.  I'm enthralled with your smell.  I move in tandem with our play list.  Song after song, the poetry of your life spills into the airwaves.  Acoustic guitar strings swell with melody.  Quiet, whispered words lull me to sleep.  You, well you've been out for hours.  The Vicodin and Xanax you took knocked you out way before I would've liked.  I couldn't even say goodnight.  I was in the kitchen talking to your sisters.  I didn't realize you had taken so much.  When I shook you, all I got was a moan.  So I just climbed into bed, and this is my imagery, my visual, my sanctuary.  Tablespooning you, because you liked to be the little spoon.  Which worked out well because I loved to nip at the nape of your neck and run my fingers up and down your back.  My mind is completely lost at this point.  I'm not sure what is real and what I'm imagining.  Sometimes I wish I could choose my reality.  Just to lay there again.  Night after night, I had so many chances to sneak your pills into my bag and dump them in the sewer.  I can't say why I didn't.  I'm sure I had a righteous yet fucked up reason at that moment.  But instead, I let you take your course.  It was the only thing I could do to keep my promise - to be your support, not your boss.  To believe in you.  And I did believe in you.  I believed in you with every small pill you washed down your throat.  I believed in you when you cried in my arms when you were sick.  I believed in you when you threw your stash of Vicodin across the kitchen floor during a family argument.  I believed in you when you cursed at your mother and shunned your entire family.  I believed in you when you crashed your car and fled into a Sears electrical closet.  I believed in you when you quit your job without another one lined up.  I believed in you when you had two cents to your name, no car and no job.  I believe in you when you hit rock bottom.  Maybe I made a difference.  At least I like to think I did.  All you had was me.  Your family was there, but you wouldn't have them.  And for months, this is how we ended our days together.  Together as one body, one soul.  Intertwined laces tied in an elegant knot.  I only wished to see you smile, for it brought joy to my heart.  And looking back now at this scene I have formulated using only memory and brain cells, I am not sure who I feel more sorry for.