How Do You Sleep

we have restless nights. and what do we do about it? so far i’am tranced by bedtime stories and old The Cardigans album. but that is phony. i want a real Nina Persson voice that is equally balmy and enthralling, in which listening to is almost like making love. in less peaceful nights, i try to be reckless: i paint, i soliloquy, i read, i doodle, i have a mad desire to dance until its two in the morning and my neighbor sees me and wonders how an odd creature from another planet happens to land in my room. i will to be like the little prince. but i’am from earth, a kin to humans. plus the fact that i’m not that beautiful. it makes me hope against hope, and realize too soon that it’s a cry for the moon, to find my personal plant to take care of and look after here. my rose is from mars or somewhere in asteroid B-612. and i can’t get there. i’am from earth. the district of lonely people and sheeps who don’t sleep.

and so i take lazy trips on the road and watch a leaf or a paper fly in mid-air and see beauty in them. i follow my whims. i hate making plans. plans are for people who expect death when they’re 60 or 70. but i’m anxious. i guess fear is a normal feeling for a 23 year old, or for an earthling after all. because the rumble in the highway is not ebbing. the rumble in the highway is hammering inside my chest. i need to be a little less queasy. my heart is beating 100+ beats per minute and i wonder if it’s excitement, or lust, or a lack of resolution. or could it be the literal misbehaving of car wheels resonating from the ground? my heart is beating 100+ beats per minute as i sit here, my fingers drumming on the table, when i realize i’am waiting. for what? for who? whom. dub dub dub. then the rumble is the combination of all: excitement, lust, and the lack of resolution. and i think love. i hear car wheels screech into a halt, the hint of a real Nina Persson voice, but more melodic.

i’am here on earth. and my rose is not from Mars or Asteroid B-612 after all.

in a night of patience and sweet yearnings the rumbles become silent.

and so in a night like this, a night of beautiful pleasures i ask you,
how do you even sleep?

i don’t. i just stay here with you.

Finding -Marco- Harlequin Lover