There were always voices outside the room, where I laid lifelessly, friendlessly, aimlessly…
The voices often kept me busy, offered me company. But I didn’t want to stay busy, and I definitely needed no company. What does it matter anyway, right?
Wrong. Because there was this one voice, which was distinguishable amongst the others. It was warmer, friendlier, softer…
I listened to it every night when all the other voices went to sleep when I wasn't able to close my eyes yet. It spoke to me, told me stories, sang me rhythms, whispered words of love and comfort…
One night, when the voice hadn't visited me, I called for it, asked it, begged it to pass by. It came eventually. I'd known it would. It was the sole reason I had allowed what little hope within me to drive me forward, to help me live on, to find a reason to stay alive and ignore the pitiful pains I was used to feeling every night just so I can come to live another night to hear the voice.
I've invited it into my room one night when the loneliness had become my only companion and I craved a different one. I wanted to see it; to know what stood behind my door every night, telling me prayers and singing me songs; to discover my only reason to live on; to unveil the face of my lover…
And so, the door cracked open and slowly squeaked a little to let a bit of cold, hostile breeze into the room uninvited, and to show but a fraction of a tender smile. And that smile was enough to help me sleep off the pains for the rest of the night as peacefully as my body would let me.
The next night, a gentle wave of a hand wished me good night. And the night after, a blow of a kiss…
But one night, I extended my hands, despite the pain that single movement had brought upon my whole body, in high hopes that it'll be touched. I kept it extended for nights to follow, wishing if, by any miracle, I will be held once at all.
At first, it felt like an electric shock that struck the tips of my fingers—they'd gone numb from all the nights they've waited all by themselves. But now, they’ve finally been accompanied by an amiable touch and a kind sensation.
It was difficult to get used to the unfamiliar feeling, yet it felt so familiar to me. And for every night further, that touch was all I recognized, all I felt, all I truly needed to push me to sleep through another night. And too soon, I was addicted.
When I got used to the tingles that ran through my hand every night, I felt the need for more. So, I lifted my eyes to look. Light shone brightly—so brightly it was blinding—with the same tender smile. And I saw paradise. His eyes, his nose, his lips, everything about him looked like he was sent to me from heaven. He looked so enchanting I thought I was dreaming.
The mornings were torturing, but the nights were magical. He laid with me every night and held me dearly till I fell asleep. And every night, I slept with his arms around me, his face close to mine, and his presence in my dreams.
I lived off the memories of his touches every morning and took in his love every night.
He was my new beginning and my perfect ending. My best addiction and my dangerous obsession. My problem and my solution. My hope and my dismay.
He was fire, and I let him burn me. He was trouble, and I let him ruin me. He was my dream, and I let him enchant me. He was my nightmare, and I let him haunt me.
And on my last night, when he didn't visit me, I cried for him to come. But this time, he never showed up. And I didn't even hear his voice—or any of the other voices for that matter—from behind my door. And so, I cried till the tears drained the life out of me.
And for the first time in a long time, I've finally felt what it's like to abandon the safety of my bed. I started walking, and then I started running. My feet felt strange and light like walking on air. I felt free once again. I felt livelier than ever. I felt heavenly like I'm in one of my many dreams.
The voices came back then; this time, they were not outside my room but all around me. Only one voice enveloped me and took me in like I was his possession. And I was truly inevitably his.
He smiled at me a tender smile, sang me rhythms, and whispered words of love and comfort.
He was everything and nothing all at once.
He was a reality in my dreams. A reality that wasn’t so real. A dream that wasn't so dreamy.
And all at once, when he pulled me gently by the hand to follow him, I felt it dawn upon me. And within the blankness that starts warping around me, everything got different.
His touch became intangible.
His kisses became unaffectionate.
His embrace was no longer warm.
His smile became cold.
His voice became inaudible.
His voice became unheard.
ns 18.68.41.179da2
