Dichotomy

Sometimes the only way i can tell if it is really night is because i am in the same bed as he is. Insomnia makes everything run together, and day could easily be night just as easily as night can be day, except when he’s sleeping beside me, and i know when i am, finally.

He can be like day and night. He is nothing but dichotomy these days. i hear it in his voice and see it in his slightest movements, but it is his body that illustrates it best. It is in his arms that i feel the separation between two different things the most.

His arms are strong and intimidating. They hold his strength and will power and all things about him that make him both bad and good. i see myself in his arms, and one of them is made up of his passions: demanding, dark, and asphyxiating. The other is made of his compassions and exudes from it all the emotion, tenderness, and care that he tries so hard to deny. i don’t know what to feel when we wraps both around me, so i make a smart decision and decide not to feel anything.

It’s then when i know when and where i am, when i am encompassed in the vast expanse of his person, which all fits in the small confines of his arm’s grip. i know i am somewhere i should probably escape because it’s not ever smart to be numb. i realize, however, that this has nothing to do with “smart,” and i although i know he can never know the depth of my person and my feelings and my capacity to hold everything he has to offer, i realize it is better to be numb than to be in pain.

So, just as his arms show the spilt in him, my being in his arms shows the spilt in me because what he feels inside that grasp is only half of what i really am. It’s sad that i can’t show him more, but i know that maybe that is what is smart about all of this.