I Can't Sleep

I can't sleep. In fact, I can't remember the last time I slept longer than an hour. Once I close my eyes, all I see and feel are waves lapping at my feet, the soft sand beneath my fingers. The night air leaves the sand cool to the touch, and the atmosphere seems stagnant, as if anticipating something. The sound of the crashing waves, and the occasional croon from a seagull fills my ears. My dream always starts out sweetly, like a fond memory from being a child, something to be treasured. The moonlight casts a glow on the water, I step in.

Suddenly, my dream changes to a nightmare, the calm waters turning into fast, churning waves that sweep me under. I am powerless against them. The current throws me around, around, until I cannot tell which way to swim. Which way is up or down? Which will lead me to safety? I feel my vision blurring the longer I am down here, so I give one last push swimming towards what I hope is the surface.

Just as I feel my heart squeezing painfully, biting air stings my cheeks, and I take deep, gasping breaths, my chest heaving from exhaustion. I float for what feels like hours, if only to recuperate. I stare up at the moon, wondering where I am exactly. Once the stars start to get blurry, and my eyes stay shut longer, I know it's time to head back to shore.

As soon as I think this, I hear a voice calling out to me. It is a female voice, at least, it sounds like one. Her voice is powerful, drawing me in. I swear she is singing the lullaby my mother used to sing to me as a child, but how would this woman know that song? Before I know it, I am standing on the shoreline, water dripping down my body in rivulets, catching in my eyelashes. I walk closer to the woman. I am bewitched by her presence. I can’t take my eyes off her.

She lays against a rock not far from the shoreline where I stand. The woman is draped in a way that suggests she is laying on a bed of feathers, not a jagged stone. She has a dark umber brown complexion, from where I stand, I can see no imperfections marring her skin. Her hair cascades behind her in its own sea of jet-black curls, her ends dancing with the wind. She is wearing a white gown; the moon makes her glow. The woman has one arm raised to the sky, her hand clasped as if trying to reach out and hold the moon in her palm. She appears every time I dream, and yet, every time I am astounded by her beauty.

I take a few steps closer, then her head turns to face me. Her gaze catches mine, and I can no longer move. Her eyes stared into mine for some minutes. They are a rich brown color, appearing black in the night. I can see small wrinkles surrounding her eyes, and small freckles sprinkled around her face. A stray wave washes up and wets the hem of her gown, and this breaks our contact. She looks down at her dress with a small frown and clicks her tongue before sliding off the rock and standing. She moves so gracefully, as if she is gliding along the sand.

The woman moves to stand in front of me. She is taller than me, I realize, I must crane my neck slightly to look at her. I want to say something, anything to break the silence, but I can’t find it in myself to ruin the moment. She looks at me, her head tilted to the side, like an animal trying to decide if a person is dangerous. Up close, I feel as though I know her, someone from a previous life, but I cannot be sure. I watch as she lifts her hand and gently touches my face. So softly I can feel her fingertips grazing my peach fuzz. Her hand slowly makes its way all over my face, tracing my lips, carding through my hair. Her fingers snag in a tangle, and I hiss quietly in pain, and she yanks her hand back as if she was the one hurt.

I wait for a few moments before I left my own hand, her eyes narrow and shift between my eyes and my outstretched hand. I see in her eyes she is considering my touch. I do not know why I want to touch her too, my hand just reached up on instinct. After a short minute, she takes a short step forward. I take this as permission and let my hand touch her cheek just as gently as she touched mine, if not more so. Her skin is inhuman in how perfect it is. It is smooth, and I do not feel any pores. It is not dry, or oily, it is simply smooth.

My hand goes to her eyes, tracing around them. My own flit around her face, counting freckles. There are ten. I run my fingers over her hair, it is soft as silk, and stray pieces frame her face. Once I reach her neck, she steps back from me and shakes her head. She walks back to the rock I found her on, and sits against it, her hands holding her knees to her chest. I move to sit next to her, my legs straight out in the sand.

We sit like this for a while, looking out at the swelling waves, and eventually the world starts to brighten, starts to wake up. She grabs my hand and wiggles my fingers. I smile at her briefly before looking back at the water. She then speaks for the first time since I heard her singing. I miss you, she whispers, staring at my hand, now her fingers are intertwined with mine. I stare at her in shock, my lips parted. Before I can respond, she smiles at me and speaks again. I love you.

I wake up. I am once again looking up at my popcorn ceiling, my bed sheets a mess around me in my too big bed. The analog clock on the wall reads 12:03. Only an hour, like I predicted before I first laid down. I look to the side of my room at my nightstand, and stare at the photo leaning next to my lamp. There she is, dark skin, long black hair, and the same white gown. The date reads 1982-2016 on the frame. It's been years since you died, and I dream of you every night, my love. I miss you so much. I still can’t sleep.