The Time Spent Alone.

You tell me I grit my teeth while I sleep and often clutch at the skin of my arms unconsciously, murmur inaudibly in my dreams some time after midnight, just before the dawn breaks in the short summer nights.

You tell me I must be dreaming of bemusing things; ones that add up to the list of questions already bustling in my head. I wake up unknowing of the events of my night, but you’re a patient evening-listener, unwilling to sleep as you organise your erratic thoughts and pay attention to the voices in your head.

The distance between us is measured in the appreciated proximity that allows us to part in distinct parts of the day, wandering purposefully in our dreams and inner universes. It’s often quite ironic how at the same time, we could be miles away yet intimately close in the instinctive pleasure our thoughts of each other bring. We are companions of soul, understanding the fluctuations in our dispositions; ones that we had spent so much time paying attention to, ensuring that those many imbalances do not shatter our firm ground.

My insecurity forces me to speak my mind at times, even though I’m desperately longing to be alone. You mostly reply with a smile, or answer with a nod of the head, so I ground myself to our inherent needs and close my eyes, tapping into a lapse of fervent goal-setting and journeys to search for the answers. You do that, too, often by heading to our room, rummaging for that journal that you barely write in, and spend hours compiling complex symphonies of thoughts and haphazard lyrical findings. I stumble upon them sometimes, and fall deeply in love with the parts of you I don’t know yet— how truly inscrutable you are.

Those times could last for weeks, which is often quite difficult to bear, but we know it is necessary. We know that after those intense periods of discovery, we fall into each other with musing revelations, and we see the glimmer in each other’s eyes, chuckling and spending so many hours conversing, always finding new things to say, sacrificing our sleep for the cherished memories we are creating.

I value this, though its beauty is rather formidable to perceive. But isn’t it always like that? Beauty conceals itself within the noticed perplexities that often unwind with time. I’ve learned that.

I wonder whether we will ever last. Sometimes it’s as if it’s too good to be true, and I have to ground myself every time I gaze into those mysterious eyes of yours, just to be aware of how human I am, how I should not get carried away by such tempting emotions, though I’d like to just let go completely and freely from that reigning mind of mine.

But as my fingers clutch at your hands instead of my own skin tonight, I’ll whisper that I love you dearly, reminding myself that my heart is a dimension I’ve befriended and learned to trust, so I lose myself in our love, and with this I know I’m free.