I opened my eyes, but couldn’t make anything out in the darkness. Fragmented thoughts of another life slipped through my fingers like sand. The blanket is warm and my head rests soft on the pillow. I feel the urge to stretch the fingers, but they don’t move. There is a coldness in them and then the sharp spikes of blood rushing in. I want to turn around and shake off the pain, but your heavy head is still resting on my arm. The darkness is so quiet, I can hear the air in your breath flowing in and out. Maybe I can just fall back asleep, I force my eyes shut but the pain in my hand is holding my thoughts captive.

If I move my arm now, I’m sure it will wake you up. So I lay still for another moment. What could you be dreaming about now? What hills are you climbing, what old friends long gone are you talking to, what surrealist tasks are you trying to fulfill? You are so close to me and yet, your mind is wandering in places I will never see. I move my head closer to you in hopes I can at least listen to what you are dreaming. The smell of your hair lets me feel calm for a moment, but I can’t hear your dreams.

The pain rushes again through my fingers up my arm and if I ever want to fall asleep again I will need to turn around. I collect my courage and with one assertive but caring motion, I pull on my arm. And feel the spikes again much stronger, the tiny needles poking my fingertips giving me the long-awaited pain. Giving way to the satisfaction of free movement.
I turn to my other side, careful not to steal the blanket from you. Moving into new territory the bed is so much colder. My knees are almost hanging free in the air, my butt still touching yours gifting a little bit of warmth. The second I rest in this new position my eyes close and a deep tiredness lays over me.

From behind me, I hear a quiet moan—a complaining murmur leaving your throat. And the guilt rushes hot into my face. There is a shuffling of cloth and fabrics, a shift of weight in the mattress below me. I knew this was going to wake you, so I should have left my arm there a bit longer.
The tiny space left on my side of the bed is making me afraid of falling. Now facing the wall I miss your warmth. And a sharp realization of emptiness hits me. A dark void between my arms and on my chest. I pull them closer but just hug the cold air.

I feel you move again and all of a sudden the cold on my chest gets replaced with your hand reaching for mine. Your thighs pressing against mine, your feet searching for mine, your warm body pressing against mine.

A melody long forgotten, that favorite song I listened to every day as a child. Notes start to fill my ears. Calm sunshine across a sea of clouds I see out the airplane window. Flight back home from a long journey. That first drink together with my best friend. Telling each other stories and remembering the nights we spent in our favorite bar. The smell of fresh sheets or my perfume on a cozy sweater. Sitting with my parents at their kitchen table, eating my mother’s food listening to my father’s past adventures. Calling my brother, playing games together, and holding a drawing into the camera for him to see. City lights pass by the train window at night, the wagon swaying left to right vibrating to the rhythm of the rails, only hearing the wind hissing by as it cuts through the landscape.

Holding me tight your body is radiating a heat so hot it starts to melt my skin. Like two steel beams in a furnace glowing red hot, our bodies start to fuse, molding us into one. Your warmth reaches the farthest most places of my body reaching all the way from my toes to my fingertips.
And my eyes close softly, knowing I’m not alone with all these thoughts and worries. Knowing I’m not alone in this bed, not alone in this world. With you holding me I slip back into a deep sleep.

The noise outside starts to fade away. The bed is soft now and no muscle wants to move.

Barcelona, January 24th 2025