In Which I Learn The Things That Stay Aren’t Always Good

Franca Gimenez

I never sleep anymore. I guess it’s not like I ever did. Not well. I take naps like a graveyard shift worker, mindlessly touching the pillow next to me. The sun comes bouncing in and the warmth induces a sudden drowsiness, like an extra blanket gingerly placed atop my desperately tired body. The light rubs my shoulders, cooing me to REM. I give in.

I always give in.

Little sister says I’m a marsupial, a possum to be exact. I come alive when everyone else flips the off switch.

It’s almost magical, you know? Everyone kissing their loved ones and turning over in bed. They put away the book or turn off the TV. Shut the laptop. Pull the covers up to their necks, exhale. Sigh their bodies deep into the mattress.

They are all somewhere and I’m not. Maybe that’s not magical at all. Maybe it’s just lonely.

The moon, you know, she likes to tell me jokes.

“Hey, have you heard the one about the girl who watched so much Buffy The Vampire Slayer she actually became a vampire? Or at least, adopted their sleep schedules.”

No, no, you’re right. Calling them jokes is being too generous. There’s not much of a punchline. Not one that makes sense. The moon is always a little drunk. She laughs at everything.

The bouquet of white roses I impulse bought myself on Valentine’s Day is still sitting on the windowsill. They’re all dead, or dying, at least. Shriveling and decaying a bit more every day. I make a mental note to throw them out whenever I see them. I never do.

It’s 1 am and technically the morning of the next day, but I know I’ll eventually retire to episodes of The Office or Friends or something gentle like that. Something I’ve seen a thousand times already.

I do bad things like read messages that I know will hurt. I touch my bruises. I flinch before immediately touching them again. I pick at pimples until they bleed. I’m predictable in that way. I’m always digging my nails into places they shouldn’t be.

There’s a boy who still loves me and texts when he’s feeling a bit nocturnal too. I do not reciprocate those feelings, but am comforted that someone is there. I don’t tell him that though. I’m trying to curb these habits. I’m trying to not take others under with me.

Not everything consistent is good. Not all things I count on mean I should. Thought Catalog Logo Mark

✨ real(ly not) chill. poet. writer. mental health activist. mama shark. ✨

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