Melatonin
There is something deafening about the silence of the late night hours. When even the sound of rubber on wet cement fades. The string of light peeking through the cracks of the blinds comes only from the moon now, and even she is tired.
My body sinks into the bed, slowly. Every morning it gets harder to get up. I am happier when I’m sleeping. But the pills don’t work anymore, and the drugs don’t work anymore, and the weight of his body on mine doesn’t work anymore.
Even through nightmares I am happier in my sleep.
The ceiling is white, it gets whiter every night, until I start seeing faces on it, watching me, judging me, listening to my every thought. And the posters on the wall become abstract images that swallow everything around it, slowly creeping its way towards the bed, and so I whisper to the genie lying next to me: “Please, please, make me sleep,” but he doesn’t listen. He lies there, fast asleep.
But when the birds start singing outside, and a single ray of sunshine starts to make its way through the gray clouds, I feel it coming. I feel it coming from far, far away, slowly, patiently, so I try not to move, I try not to disturb it. So I pray that it won’t go away, that when it gets me, it gets me for good. And if I don’t wake up tomorrow, that’s a risk I’m willing to take.
It starts in my toes, making its way up to my head, and it feels like ecstasy. It’s better than orgasming. It’s better than falling in love: falling asleep.
I am happier when I’m sleeping.
Midnight Epiphany
Love is eternal for as long as it lasts.
Vinícius de Moraes
21:32
“Should I set an alarm for tomorrow?” Emma asks, taking her glasses off and resting them at the nightstand.
“I don’t know,” Oliver answers, pulling the covers from the other side of the bed, “Do we have something in the morning?”
“No, I just don’t want to sleep all day.”
They get comfortable under the covers.
“Did you make the reservation for tomorrow night?” Oliver asks.
“Yup,” Emma answers. “8 pm.”
Emma looks at the clock on the nightstand. It’s a Friday night and she tells herself she should be out enjoying. But she’s exhausted from a day of work. Still, she can’t help but think she should be doing more with her life, enjoying more. She was only 24, after all.
“Do you feel old?” She asks, suddenly.
“What?” Oliver asks, not taking his eyes off of his phone.
“I feel so old.” She stares at the ceiling.
Oliver laughs through his nose.
“You’re allowed to be tired, Em” He says, still looking at his phone. “I’m tired, too.”
She takes a second, still staring at the ceiling.
“Yeah, you’re right.”
She gets closer and taps his arm softly. He lifts it up and she puts her head on his shoulder, making herself comfortable, and he embraces her.
“Look at this.” Oliver shows her a video and they both laugh. They are used to watching Reels on Instagram together before bed. They lay in silence, while Oliver’s finger scrolls through his phone screen.
“Let’s watch my Reels,” Emma says, after a while. “Your algorithm is fucking boring.”
“No, it’s not!” Oliver protests.
“Everything is in French.”
“Because I’m French!”
Emma laughs and rolls her eyes.
22:04
“Are you sleeping?”
The room is dark and silent, only the sound of the cars passing outside can be heard.
“No.” Emma answers.
Oliver lies facing the ceiling, her hand folded on top of his stomach. Emma is all cuddled up under the covers, facing away from him.
“Do you wanna smoke?” Oliver suggests.
“Now?” Emma asks, surprised.
“Yeah,” He says, “just to help us sleep.”
Emma chuckles.
“That’s actually not a bad idea.”
“Alright, I’ll roll one, then.” Oliver says and gets out of bed.
22:10
They sit by the window, the chilly night breeze caressing their skin. Oliver takes a drag out of the joint, breathing in slowly, then breathing out towards the night sky. She passes it to Emma, who does the same.
“It’s a beautiful view, don’t you think?” Emma asks, her gaze lingering on the city view.
“I thought you hated it.” Oliver answers.
“I do, most of the time.” She says, “But right now I love it.”
Oliver laughs.
“You’re just high.”
Emma takes another drag of the joint, coughing out the smoke. She looks at Oliver and smiles.
“Probably.”
They sit in silence for a while, appreciating the view.
“Do you think you can be happy here?” Oliver asks, suddenly.
“Wow,” Emma laughs, nervously, “deep question.”
“I’ve been thinking about this lately… about what will happen when you move here. If you will be able to build your relations… you know, make a life of your own.”
“Of course I will.” Emma says, “You know that I won’t move here just for you. Besides, that won’t happen any time soon”
Oliver takes a deep breath.
“Yeah, I know.”
“Why were you thinking about this?” She asks, curiously.
He takes a moment to answer.
“I’ve been thinking about a lot of things.”
“Like what?”
“Us.”
She takes a moment, looking at him while he looks at the view, then her eyes move away.
“Yeah,” She says, “I’ve been thinking, too.”
“I’ve been feeling so… lost.” Oliver says.
He puts down the joint on the ashtray by the window, his eyes still facing the horizon far away.
“I don’t know, Em,” He continues, “I feel like I’m stuck. Everyday I go to a job that I hate, and then I come back home to an empty house. It’s just so… lonely.”
He sighs and looks at her.
“I didn’t know you were feeling this way.” Emma says. “It’s important that you open up to me.”
“I feel the same yoo, you know.” Emma continues, after a moment “Lonely, I mean.”
“Really?” Oliver asks.
“Yeah. How can I not?” She chuckles. “The distance is hard.”
“It’s fucking hard.” Oliver takes a deep breath.
“But we knew from the beginning that it would be like this.” Emma looks at Oliver, her eyes gleaming with worry. “Didn’t we?”
Oliver looks at her, a sad smile on his face.
“Yeah, we did.”
Mariana Borges
