Of Blankets

And there you lay there on the cold, hard floor, sleeping, dreaming I would dare to say based on the twitching of your legs at intervals.  There you were, under the sweatshirt I had covered you with because I didn't want to see you lying there all cold and alone on the floor, but was too afraid to join you because I didn't want to wake you up.  Your eyes closed, your expression peaceful, I realized then that I hadn't seen you this calm in a while.  But there you were, at my feet, as I sat here writing.

I wanted to walk away, to do something, anything, to not just sit there and watch you.  I didn't want to leave, though, because I didn't want you to wake up without me there.  I left anyway.  It was better to leave you a few minutes of peace than my constant tapping on the keyboard interrupting the flow of your dreams.  And then I came back, walking as quietly as the floor would allow, treading carefully as far away from you as I could because I didn't want to disturb you.  So I sat down and wrote again.

I wished this would happen in a different place, a different time.  In a far-away village, on a soft mattress with a down comforter instead of a sweatshirt.  Someplace that wasn't filled with these stories, where my memories hadn't traced paths of pain that made this so hard.  This was supposed to be ours, yours and mine alone.  But everywhere waded the pieces of my past, the hauntings of lives once lived and faces long forgotten that had left their deep, cruel marks.

And yet, it didn't matter.  I was happy.  Even though it was clearly in my mind and softly filled the silence, it was okay.  I sat there and let the tapping of my hands on the keyboard, the steady rhythm that had become a part of me in the time you spent asleep, soothe me, and everything was alright.  For once it didn't hurt, didn't burn, didn't seek to destroy me, and I sat there and thought of you asleep at my feet.

I wanted to be the one to wake you up.  To be the face you saw when your eyes opened and your mind shifted back to reality.  But you woke up two minutes before I would have bent down beside you.  It was oddly disappointing in that bittersweet way.  And I don't know why and I don't know how, but it was sad, in that soft and peaceful way that I didn't really mind.

But anyway, I've spent too long dawdling over this, replaying seemingly simple and insignificant moments over again in my mind.  You got up.  We left.  Life went on.  What more can I say?  I do not know what exactly I thought or why, perhaps I can even say that I do not want to.  Because life is like that sometimes, and we don't always have soft beds or blankets or places free of lingering thoughts.  All we can do is make the most of what we have.