I should be happy. Or feeling bittersweet, at least. On the one hand, I’m thankful to have had the chance to share so many things with her:
- listening to Bring Me The Disco King (Lohner Remix), as she sat curled in my lap in the darkness of my room
- runs for bubble tea before settling in for the night with a movie or two
- a road trip to Toronto, where I got to introduce her to my friends, Pacific Mall, and dragon’s beard candy
- parties at Pat and Jen’s, with board games, Rock Band, delicious food, amazing people, and general silliness
- moments like this
- looking into her eyes while our bodies were locked in blankets on the living room floor
- reading my favourite parts of The Prophet to her
- just the two of us going to dim sum on a beautiful Saturday morning, and introducing her to a medley of new dishes
But there’s one thing I regret, and that’s not being able to spend the night with her, for she had never slept over, you see. Sure, there were times when we stayed awake well past sunrise, with only the touch of hand and flesh as silent dialogue, my desire to prolong the pleasure driving my will to stay awake to every moment possible with her. Those are some of my favourite memories. But the sleep that eventually took us was only our bodies passing out briefly from exhaustion, and when we woke, she’d be gone soon after.
There are other things I wish I had had the chance to do while it lasted — sharing a relaxing bath, photography and video ideas, getting involved in a deep co-op game — but none of them were as important as a night spent sleeping together.
A long time ago, I wrote about how a girlfriend helped me figure out the importance of the night because of my earlier romances, and the situations that never let me share something as simple as sleep, the most intimate of intimates.
In a relationship, sharing the night is more important than sharing fluids. Falling asleep with someone is an acceptance of trust, a way of saying that we’re comfortable enough to drift into our subconscious minds.
Perhaps it was my fault for keeping her awake. I wonder now, if on one night, I should have let myself sleep, instead of letting our passion take us long into the next day.
Jeff, you old romantic you, Consider this news item from the BBC and perhaps you’ll feel less sorrow over missing spending the night with someone [and maybe she snored…]:
Sleep specialist Dr Neil Stanley told the British Science Festival how bed sharing can cause rows over snoring and duvet-hogging and robs precious sleep. One study found that, on average, couples suffered 50% more sleep disturbances if they shared a bed. … He said the modern tradition of the marital bed only began with the industrial revolution, when people moving to overcrowded towns and cities found themselves short of living space. Before the Victorian era it was not uncommon for married couples to sleep apart. In ancient Rome, the marital bed was a place for sexual congress but not for sleeping. Dr Stanley, who set up one of Britain’s leading sleep laboratories at the University of Surrey, said the people of today should consider doing the same. „, He said poor sleep was linked to depression, heart disease, strokes, lung disorders, traffic and industrial accidents, and divorce, yet sleep was largely ignored as an important aspect of health.
Story from BBC NEWS:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/2/hi/health/8245578.stm
Published: 2009/09/09 09:07:35 GMT
© BBC MMIX
Hahahah…my parents slept in separate rooms too, and I always felt there was something wrong with that. Maybe they were just doing it to keep the marriage going. Not that it mattered in the end.
Maybe they were just doing it to keep the marriage going…that’s really funny! But that could be true :)