I don’t like sleeping alone so I leave the television on. Each night, same program, same punch lines. My grandmother tells me it’s not good for my sleep hygiene but those well trodden scripts keep my head clean.
You get lonely too. It’s 03:08 in your room and a deficient blue light from your television watches over you whilst your eyelids flicker.
Our heads emulate each other, the gravity from inane, backward problems; Crimson thoughts bundled in unwashed white sheets, lurid in undisputed memory. Memories that leave us conflicting in a war that haunts our pillows at night.
I put my head on your chest and sing-along to your dancing heartbeat as we both swoon backwards into our pasts. “Put the TV on, then we can sleep.” There’s a million things my cluttered brain wants to say instead but these sentences run too thick for our air.
We slept here, tonight. But to undress ourselves out of our precious habits; it’s too burdensome. Putting off that box would mean lying on our backs in a position of darkness, alone; together.