Promise me you won’t

by 7

I’ll tell you a secret. A weird one. And promise me you won’t tell anyone.

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I first knew this when I got nightmares, and I finally told mom one night ’cause I couldn’t keep it in. She made me sleep on her lap, hummed, and stroked my hair. But I couldn’t count the sheeps in numbers because I somehow felt like mom was watching me, looking at me while doing what she was doing, and it somehow bugged me out. I tried to look at her and I was right.

I thought that I was just overthinking it when I was younger, but when I had my first serious relationship, it crept out of me again.

“Don’t look at me, I’m sleeping,” I told him in irritation.
“How sure are you that I’m doing that right now?” he asks in mild tease, stirring his late-night coffee drink.
“I hate you.” He laughed.
He was standing there, drinking his coffee, looking at me.
“For the love of the angel, Paul, let me sleep.”
“Not until you tell me…”
“Alright I will, just…get on the bed with me.” I yawned. “Please.”

He laughed that sweet manly laugh. I heard him put the cup on the table, swiftly kissed my forehead, and went beside me. Wrapping his arms around me, I felt his breaths on my hair.

I told him my secret. He asked. I replied I don’t know how I got it or even why. He laughed. He understood. We had a good night sleep.

 

We had good ones until we broke apart.

 

Two years have passed since this day when—

You driving.
We arguing.
Me being childish.
You being reckless.
Smooth road.
Car approaching.

And two nights from the last two years since, I thought I heard your sweet manly laugh, and from a distance, a stirring of a coffee cup.

And I swear, I know something was bugging me out.

 

“For the love of the angel, Paul, let me sleep.”

 

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