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...written on 2008-06-05, @ 4:18 p.m.
On those nights I stumbled into bed, unsatisfied and alone, I used to dream of something better. Like some bright, beautiful star in the distance I imagined an ideal life. Beyond the ringing of my ears, I could hear a soft voice on sunday mornings coaxing me awake; a deep laugh as a roaming hand grazed a ticklish side; and a gentle exhale mussing my hair. I would curl, calm and contented, into that precious heat and drift back to sleep to the smell of spring. At night, with that voice still lingering in my mind, I would not dread waking up to Monday morning. The hurried mess of school and work would not disrupt my sleeping hours with fitful worries. On those drunken nights, I dreamed of a world where I would love my life and, more importantly, myself. On those nights I surely didn't.
And one day I woke up and I wasn't dreaming anymore. Soft spring light came through the window and I rolled, only slightly, but it was enough to pull him briefly out of sleep. A strong, tanned arm wrapped tight around my middle and I had to laugh at the tiny, offended, huff of air exhaled into my pillows.
That night, after a day of work- both pleasant and exhausting- I came home scared and surprisingly...satisfied. And had all of it fallen apart that day, I think I could have felt comfort in that moment anyway.