a w a k e n

For the warmth, the safety, the new beginning, and the dreams.

Early morning, waking, I am turning lazily around in the bed, nice and warm, with the bedclothes and the linen, with the thought that there is no need to get out from under the sheets where everything from the night before is so familiar and cosy, with the perfect place found for head, arms and feet. As I slowly come to, I hear the muffled noise of the water splashing in the shower, a yet soothing sound which could easily send me back to sleep, to stay cuddled up in the nest of the blanket created in the past 6-8 hours. This bed here is all too safe, all too dreamy to think of anything real.

I am waking very softly, from a recurring dream. With just one eye half open I peek at the light creeping in under the door, and I hear the cars leaving the streets, even raindrops on the roof and the birds outside in the distance. I turn to the other side, stretching just a bit, just the back, just the legs. The noise of the water suddenly gets sharper, and I hope that it will stop altogether, and soon, but it keeps going on, and there is no other sound from the rest of the house. Everyone else is sleeping, the silence of the walls and the rattling drops of water tell me to find my way back to the dream, suggesting there is always a thread that leads me back.

In one of the many scenes of this recurrent vision the sounds are quite similar, though they are sounds from the wind in the pines behind the house and the chipmunks on the roof, the creaking of the wooden floor as he creeps into the little room, the sleeping bag, for warmth, then mainly silence as he stays for thoughts to share in a fragile idea, impossibilities to whisper, and sleek secrets to keep. Perhaps he does not say a word, and perhaps things are so perfectly balanced and also neatly out of boundaries exactly because of this, or else, he must be reading my mind, something I know he does sometimes, though I am not sure how good he is at it. You see, I have never dared to ask and he has never had the courage to explore my point of view. The truth is, after what seems like long years I think that is where the beauty of our connection lies, even though I am dying to know, though on the other hand I am trying my best to stifle the urge, knowing that knowledge is a destructive force in this realm.

Turning again, I stretch a little more as the water stops and I can hear him step out of the shower. It seems like the right time to wake, while I am yearning to just stay for another hour, or rather an entire day, to wait for evening to fall once again in the house by the pines, under the chipmunks on the roof, and the crisp air of the little room, the warmth of the sleeping bag, for staying until this dream fades away completely.