LDR

This experimental poem was inspired by a challenge; using only three hundred words, I was to write a story beginning with the line, “I can’t sleep without you here.”

I can’t sleep without you here. Where there was warmth, it is now cold. All I have left is an impression, wrinkled sheets and disheveled blankets from this morning. As I peel away the day from my body and adorn myself with comfort I am left wishing it were you wrapped around me and not cotton. I hate the days and weeks and months that you’re not here. It never gets easier.

My mind drifts to this morning as I follow my nightly routine. Wash my face. Hands on my waist. Brush my teeth. Me underneath. A glass of water. You worshiped and I was your altar.

As I climb into my bed and wrap myself in the blankets that held us I catch the lingering scent of your cologne and a little bit of me melts. A little bit of me aches. Separated by miles and miles and all I want tomorrow is to wake up to your smile. Wake up to your face. Wake up to your embrace, nose nuzzled in my neck, your lips pressed against my skin.

As I’m lost in longing my phone vibrates and as the screen lights up so do I. It’s a message from you:

Hi baby, just letting you know I made it safe.

I miss you and I wish I were still with you.

I’m glad that I get to call you mine.

I melt some more and I ache some more. Fifty-six days until I see you again. Fifty-six days until I get to be with you once more. I take a deep breath and slowly let it out.

My reply is short, but I feel it tells you everything you need to hear.

I can’t sleep without you here.

- r.m.