My mother would tell you that I’ve never been a good sleeper.

I can attribute this to a number of factors.

I had never spent the night with anyone romantically other than my husband. I had issues when I was younger, letting myself be vulnerable enough to actually sleep with someone. I usually didn’t feel comfortable staying anywhere either.

I don’t know how you miss an idea, but I miss the concept of really sleeping together. The body heat another person generates. I’d love to have someone accept me sleeping naked, who didn’t see it as a ploy or an insult.

Maybe he’d wake up with me slowly and softly, making me coffee or pancakes.  I’d wake up at all hours to find him stroking my head, rubbing my back, pulling me close. I’d even like that part of the morning where you wake up, him watching me.  Strange to be watched after not even being seen like that for so long.

I miss how sleep could so easily turn into something playful. How we could talk in bed in the dark before we fell asleep, or tease each other awake.

I miss sleeping, and I hate that.

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