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The clock kept ticking quietly in unison with his breath. The only thing I could hear was his breath, I felt it in my own chest. The sound of the sheets slowly going up and down, up and down as some sort of crescendo and decrescendo that kept crafting melodies from mere air.
My nose was glued to the back of his body, as if I were trying to retain every single inch of movement from his unconscious body; as if something from him could escape if I weren’t wary enough. From my perspective, nothing else was present. Only us two laying in bed around 2 am in the morning, one snoring— the other weeping.
I couldn’t hold back the tears that came out while clenching his shirt. It wasn’t too long ago since I asked his half-asleep self if I could hug him from behind. He agreed, yet I couldn’t gather the courage to actually do it. I couldn’t bring myself to be comforted. I’d rather be left behind, untouched, only caressed by my own skin to clean those ugly tears away. I felt my body go limp as I curled up even more into some sort of fetal position, trying to make the least amount of noise as possible. Though still, I heard myself grasping the air while I tried to make my eyes not cry as much as I wanted to.
That’s because anything that came out of me was just noise, something you could ignore by simply pretending it didn’t exist, playing it cool.
Playing it cool like everyday, with no cease. No— no vulnerability, no worries.
I guess letting myself go completely vulnerable was helpful— in some way. I knew he wouldn’t know anything about that tomorrow, I knew he wouldn’t suddenly wake up just to comfort me (even if I wanted to), I knew that after that night, everything that happened was just that we had a sleepover and he happened to fall asleep before me. That was it, nothing else. Nothing had happened that night.
I obviously didn’t start sobbing because of the raw yearning I suddenly felt from something as simple as the human lungs. But, oh, there was something so beautiful about the human lungs. They show us that we are alive, whenever we have peace or anguish, they make us realize that. The realization of having someone else breathing by your side, at bed, at night, no other bothers whatsoever. It was calming.
I kept on hugging myself.
I wasn’t deserving of such comfort from a third party because of this stupid reason.
My breathing was shaky and without pace, his was steady and tranquil. It made me feel safe, I could easily pass out from the utter lack of sleep mixed with his presence.
My weeping eyes started to fall into silence once I’ve finally emptied my feelings— from dehydration or satiating, who knows. And right there I wondered what would’ve happened, what if he woke up in the middle of my ‘moment’, per say. Would he have turned around and wiped my tears away? Of course he would have, that’s the kind of person he is.
I wished that happened. I wished he would’ve pitted my burnt eyes and hugged my worthless body with all his strength. I wished he would’ve turned around just for me. I wished— I wished he would’ve seen me like this, so that I could be seen as miserable as I am right before his eyes. I wished— so, so much, that he would’ve seen me cry and caressed the salty tears away, maybe even bringing his own. Because I’m that petty of a human.
I want to make people cry from just seeing me. So then, maybe, I can feel reasonable about what my heart keeps aching for.
Still, that’s just what I wished for. Nothing happened in reality.
Even if I wanted to show how I actually feel sometimes, I just can’t. It’s too much for me, I can’t handle it, I’m not supposed to feel this way. I'm so sorry.
Completely silent now, I felt sick. I grabbed my phone, not even knowing what I was doing with it, perhaps I was just scrolling to keep my mind occupied from the scene I just did.
Nothing worked though.
I felt naked, like my heart was out of my body— pumping fresh blood out and raw, in the middle of the room. My feelings were everywhere and everything surrounding me was dancing. I started to feel lightheaded. The pillow I squished was the only thing that comforted me in some way, that night. I was used to using inanimate objects to not feel as lonely as I did.
And before I could process anything else, I passed out at probably 3 in the morning.
It felt like I was ready to die.
The only thing I regret is not hugging him, though. I wished I did, it would’ve been definitely better than the pillow.
I wish I actually took action. I didn’t though, because I’m just a fucking coward.