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| Dream-catcher. Photo by Asyah Saif. |
Today, I will decide not to wake you, not to pull the blinds
apart.
I will lie down, listening to a slow breath, trying to catch
up, catch the rhythm, be in sync. And when I succeed, I will smile, then break
it, separating from you; my breath my own, yours only yours.
I will watch your body move, up and down, slow and calm. The
young rays of sun, still fresh and eager, could have played with your skin,
forming shapes, changing colour, playing games. But not today. Today, they
shall live another life, find another special someone; this morning, you are
mine.
I will put my hand close to yours, barely touching, almost. Your
skin—a shade darker; the sun has played its part, left its mark. It’s smooth.
But I will not touch you, will not feel your warmth; this morning, I will let
you sleep.
I will close my eyes to see your breath
rise to life and die into eternity. Warm and heavy. I will listen
to your dreams and, slowly, quietly, sneak in, join your world. I will walk
beside you, looking through your eyes, letting you see through mine.
I will open my eyes, afraid to find that you are just a
dream, that I am nothing but yours. Then I’ll see that you are still a dream
and I—still yours; and I, serene, will close my eyes again, knowing that, no
matter if I stay or leave, we will be a dream.
I will admit—a bit proud, a bit ashamed—that morning is my
domain, and lying in bed, even if asleep, prickles me, tickles. Not much, but
just enough to turn me evil; and like a little devil, I will fold my wings,
hold my breath, prepare to play. I will wave my hand and watch the shadow make
its journey up and down the hills and valleys of your face. I will wave it
faster, to see if it forms a hurricane of day and night within your dreams. But
that won’t wake you. I will blow a little air on your forehead and watch your
hair sway helplessly under my spell. I will try harder, to see if it creates a
fog of autumn leaves swirling within your dreams. But that won’t wake you. I
will raise my finger and, with a hidden smile, barely seen, I will want to poke
you. But that will wake the saint in me, and I will stop just before intruding,
forgetting my vicious schemes, my selfish wish. I will lie back and let it
tickle, because, if I concentrate hard enough, I can hear us laugh.
Today, I will not wake you. I will watch you sleep.
