Dear Sleep

Dear Sleep,

I have tried to begin this letter to you now three times. Each time I dive in, telling you I miss you or asking where you've gone. And each time I think I sound over eager, so I erase what I've written and wonder whether or not even trying to contact you is a lost cause.

So here it is all on the line. I miss you. Where are you?

You left me so suddenly- things, I thought, had been great with us. Lazy mornings together, even quickies in the afternoon from time to time. I even thought you liked my dog. Remember how the three of us used to cuddle in bed on cold winter evenings? Wasn't that nice?

Even our arguments seemed relatively innocuous. Remember the time I came home with those red sheets? I was so excited about them, and it took you a while to tell me that you didn't like them. You preferred plain white. But I listened, didn't I? I eventually changed the sheets, promised never to use them again, and things were better than they'd ever been. At least I thought.

But then things got tough at school, and I guess if I'm honest with myself I started ignoring you. I would come home late and instead of making time for you, I'd keep right on working into the wee hours. I guess I thought at the end of all that you'd be there whenever I wanted you. But I guessed wrong. Eventually, I guess you got fed up. All my early mornings and late nights, taking you for granted. I assumed we could put eachother on hold, and go back to the honeymoon when I had more time. But we couldn't, and now I'm afraid you've found someone better, someone you like more, someone who appreciates you and never sacrifices the time you share.

I miss you- did I already say that? At night especially, but in the early mornings too. Which is mostly when you miss things that are gone. The dog misses you too. At about five this morning, when I thought I just might be on the brink of dreaming of you, thinking you were just outside the door, he started crying, sending the cold reality of your absence back into the room like a blast of freezing air.

I stood up, put on my shoes, and took him outside on a leash. A tiny part of me still hoped you'd be there when I got back- returned to me without a word. True love means never having to say you're sorry, or something like that, right?

But you weren't there. The apartment was still empty, my bed still perfectly made. You hadn't come by- not even to pick up the rest of your stuff- slippers, eyemask, all those little things. Don't you want them, or did you leave them behind on purpose as talismans to make your absence feel all the more acute?

At this point I want to call you dirty names and tell you that you've always been too mercurial. That you're flaky and selfish- you never think about the fact that it is exactly when I have fewer hours to lavish on you that I might need you to stick it out with me the most, stealing moments where we can.

But I know none of these angry words will make you come back to me. In fact, I have absolutely no idea how I might lure you back.

Let's forget, for the moment, about who abandoned who, about questions of love, or the finer points of our incredibly long history together. Let me just say, that in these past weeks, since you left that Monday morning and just never came home, that my longing for you have only increased, my pain seeping deeper into my bones, settling into my limbs and collecting near the back of my neck. Aside from the pains of the heart I suffer at your absence, I feel a madness taking over my brain. I feel a visceral reaction in my cellular structure. I need you. My body needs you, and my mind needs you, even outside of the desperate longing of my heart.

Remember the vacations we took together? To places in time, historical settings, wild cartoon dreamlands where elephants spoke? We can have that all again. And this time it will be different, baby, I swear it. This time I'll put you first. Think about it. The nights are too long without you.

Beatrix