Once, not that long ago, I couldn’t sleep with light in the darkness of my room. A pinprick of light was more than enough to pierce through my eyelids to keep me awake for hours.
These days I sleep through the soft, black light from my computer screen. Sometimes I wake up to the familiar creak of his wooden bed, but more often I hear nothing until morning, lost in my dreams. A year of electronic slumber parties and a summer of travel has made me an adaptable sleeper.
Tonight I sit in the pure darkness of my room, under my soft fur blanket, feeling like I’ve forgotten something. Tonight there’s no light from my screen, so heavy breath to wake me. My fan blows to block out the sounds of the world, but it seems that a layer of my white noise is gone. There’s no open link to the other side of the world, no comforting presence to be found.
How can such a simple thing mean so very much? How does a soft glow bring such beautiful security and tenderness? It feels strange to go without it.
With or without the light, tonight I will close my eyes and dream soft dreams of him, as I often do.
My long distance relationship has a way of changing my thought process.
These days I have trouble deciding to go to sleep. It’s 1 a.m. for me and 6 a.m. for him. Our webcams are on. I’m comforted by the way he turns and sighs in his sleep, as if the distance had fallen away and I could roll over to find him there next to me. If I could only stay up a couple more hours, I would be awake when he gets up. But 4 a.m. is so very late and there is always something to do tomorrow. Instead I will turn my speakers up and wake whenever he makes a noise. Each time I look, the screen will be lighter, parts of the room appearing slowly in the faint sunlight. The shadows will fall back little by little, casting the light of day into my night covered world. I will hear him when he rustles his way out of bed. It will still be dark in the small hours before daylight and I will stumble to the computer to say goedemorgen as he apologizes for waking me, as if it hadn’t been my plan from the start. I will stumble back into bed as he goes for breakfast. I will sleep while he goes to class. If I sleep too late his classes will be nearly finished. By noon he will be home. He will eat his supper while I eat a late lunch. His day will end before it’s dark in my world. I will stay up for hours while he sleeps, accomplishing the things I never seem to get done while he’s awake. I will make a hard decision to sleep again.
Every morning your world shines into mine, the same way you bring light into my life.