I’m waking up every morning sweaty. For the first few minutes if I keep my eyes close and just breathe, I swear I can feel fingertips on my skin. One Saturday like clockwork, I was up each hour, my own hands crawling all over my body and my breath catching at 2, 4, 6 AM. Sometimes it’s hazy enough where I’m unsure if the person beside me in bed is the same person who’d fallen asleep there or if they were shifting with the characters in my head. All I know is I’m waking up each morning with a pulse that’s fluttering and with little beads of sweat lining the nape of my neck.
I Google things like, “What do sex dreams mean” and “Am I in love with my barista since I pictured him going down on me?” But I don’t really think there’s much stock in what dreamscloud.com has to say about it.
All I can think about is the way I’m feeling electric, I’m feeling restless, and I’m feeling two seconds away from jumping out of my own skin.
Something about summer approaching makes me feel wide awake. And something about being wide awake means that I crave someone to be wide awake with me. For as long as I can remember something about the days getting longer and the temperatures rising made me feel even more alive. Even more vibrant.
Even more on fire.
And so without fail, every night, there’s some sort of itch that my subconscious feels the need to scratch.
First it was the bartender whose mouth I couldn’t get enough. Then it was the mutual friend with legs for days and a voice that smokey voice that I could listen to for hours. Then, the ex I’ve pretended to have completely forgotten about. Then something I’m pretty sure included a YouTuber I’ve never met but I bought a mascara brand because of them so here we are. Then the person I’ll never cop to crushing on but when I hear his voice I fight back smiles. Then the roommate who I’ll never stop admitting I crushed on, but I didn’t have the vocabulary to match it at the time.
I sometimes compare myself now to myself at 23/24 and talk about how much I’ve calmed down since those days. But then, without fail, April comes around, the seasons start to hint towards summer, and like clockwork I wake back up.
Instead of sleeping in, I’m up with the sun. Instead of wanting to be alone, I crave attention. Instead of dreaming about work, I dream about lips I haven’t tasted in years and hands that are deemed untouchable.
The mark of summer coming has always been painted with me trying to.
So when I drift off to the thought of her fingers in my hair and her IPA breath, or his lips along my thighs and the way he collapsed on my back, I don’t shut it out.
I guess, in a way I welcome it.
Because whether it be because of summer or because of sex dreams, I’ve been waking up every morning sweaty.
And something about it reminds me exactly why I’m alive.