sleep tight, baby.

sometimes before i go to sleep, i wish i could go back in time for just a few minutes, or even a few seconds. i miss the way we could never sleep facing each other. ass to ass, we would lie with only the sound of the fan and the purring of our cat to put us to sleep. i miss the long, sloppy kisses goodnight and the little sounds he'd make as he drifted through the stages of sleep, which i know about. sometimes if i couldn't sleep, i'd pay attention to his breathing patterns and the way those green eyes would go crazy under his closed lids. sometimes his legs would jump and i knew he was in sleep stage 1. his breaths would get deeper and more drawn out until he finally started snoring. then his eyelids would start fluttering and i knew he was dreaming. was he dreaming about me? sometimes i couldn't wait until morning to hear if i'd been in his subconscious thoughts. sometimes i'd tell my mom what he had dreamed, because she always claimed to be an excellent dream analyst and was usually pretty accurate when it came to my dreams. i miss the way he moved against me when he slept. sometimes he would readjust and slip his arm around my stomach, which always made me feel extremely fat and incredibly uncomfortable. sometimes he would just stick his ass out a little further, just to see if i'd wake up when he nudged me. sometimes we'd wake up lying on our backs, holding hands. i miss the little things. the smell of cigarettes and toothpaste on his breath as he slipped in to bed beside me. the way he'd turn the clock around so the bright red numbers wouldn't be in my eyes. wearing nothing but underwear and his favorite t-shirts to bed. telling his mom i loved her more right after her bath. singing our kitty to sleep. the feeling of closeness without even touching.