Babe, it’s two in the morning and not an ounce of sleep. The moon is full and round and stuck in your throat. You can’t speak. You won’t speak, because you don’t know where you left your words. Careless with diction. Careless with the way you use the back of your hand and I don’t know where you put our love. It’s hidden. It’s sodden. Trodden out and squeezed of all the goodness. I wanted you back, now I want you to go, right now, blend in with the orange street lamps, so I may never see you again.
I get up. Open the medication cupboard. Search for the valium they gave me to cope with you and your vulgar mouth. Funny how sleep is measured in weight, like the dose of medication. Two milligrams, five milligrams, ten milligrams…an ounce, twenty five milligrams. I can’t remember ever being happy with you and yet you still believe you have a right to moan and curse and demean. You are mean.
I swallow a pill. Gradually I am numb. Now, I don’t care, whether you exist or not. I don’t care that it is summer and the golden fields are oceans where we used to play. You used to go down on me and I would shimmer with the golden sun. The daylight will come soon. Our saviour. The day detracts from the broken, jagged edges that are left of our lives. I no longer am yours. You no longer are mine. Sleep comes to me on our sofa. I do not have to smell you here and I snatch what is left of the night in a fitful dream.
I sail on a rocky sea. Dark waves of emotion. My boat is makeshift. My destination unknown. Panic sticks in my throat like the life ring that I lose grip of and watch drown in the deep black abyss. I hear the horns of a ship in the distance. I feel the full force of the waves. I am engulfed and I wake, horror stricken and gasping for the oxygen you deprive me of.
Time to leave. Time to leave you. Time for some sunshine on my face, to fill my bones like marrow. The door slams behind you. Your usual morning goodbye. You will be relieved to know today is the day of my freedom. I pack what I need. GONE. I write in a note. GONE. The letters stare back at me. GONE. I am ONE and the lamp posts applaud. If he wants to find me, he can follow the trail of valium from the car, like in a murder mystery tale. The trail goes dead at the end of his street.
I follow the signs saying future this way. Babe it’s two in the morning and I sleep. I sleep an odourless sleep. I dream an ocean-less dream. Bliss around the corners of my smile. Tomorrow is mine and mine and mine.