For anyone who actually reads this, or read this (weird how read and read are two different tenses of the same word spelled the same huh?) Sorry I haven’t posted anything for awhile. Its not that I’ve been busy because, lets face it, I am on J-term. Its because I’ve been lazy and also because I have been dying slowly but in the best way possible.
This is yet another post about the girl, who for now shall remain nameless, and the way that she is slowly killing me. In romance, just like in every other activity of the soul, the mortality rate is 100%. We all die, there just happens to be shameful and graceful ways to do it. Currently I am dying somewhere in between. The girl keeps me up all night. She is one of those people who doesn’t ever sleep at night. Not to be confused with an insomniac, because she does sleep, but she only sleeps between the hours of 4am and 2pm. Traditionally I have always been a morning person, so this sleeping pattern is what is slowly killing me. But the thing about it… about all the its she has or does… is that I fucking love it.
I may be a zombie during the day time, but I am truly alive during the crack-head hours of the night. We stay up late and talk and hold each other and despite the fact that it’s killing me, it makes me feel alive again. Somehow I’ve gotten back the same youthful exuberance, I once had. The sparkle in my eye, if you will. The lust for life and romance and her. Normally being on an ass-backwards sleeping schedule would mean I was doing something bad, but I want to be good, and I want to be good for her.
I want to show her off to everyone so that they can see what I see. To steal a line from Atmosphere, I want to make her smile just so I can sit and look at it. I want to take her to fancy places, even though I am poorer than the dirt in Detroit Michigan. I want to brag and show off how gorgeous she is, and how she somehow is out with me. But at the same time, I want to keep her a secret. I want to hide her in bed all day and count her freckles and feel the weight of her head on my chest. I want to give her back massages, even though I am certain I enjoy giving them more than she enjoys getting them. I want to keep her a secret so that nobody better comes and steals her from me, as they so often do.
I am starting to like the way the morning sounds sound different when you have been up all night. The sounds of people scraping the ice of their cars and the sounds of my roommates yelling at their dog are completely different when they are putting you to sleep rather than waking you up. Yes, this sleeping schedule is killing me softly and slowly, but dear God almighty I feel more alive than I have in a long time.