Rumi and Insomnia of the Beloved
My beloved has been out of town for almost two weeks. And I miss him quite desperately. I do not sleep well when he is gone. The part of the bed which should be warm and heavy with him is neither.
Sometimes I sleep with his old, dirty t-shirt from the laundry. Because it smells like him.
I love his smell. His touch. His weight on me. His breathing near me. They are, apparently, good sleeping pills.
This wanting, this strange not-quite sleeping is one facet of love.
When I am with you, we stay up all night.
When you’re not here, I can’t go to sleep.
Praise God for these two insomnias!
And the difference between them.
I look forward to the insomnia of that first couplet when he returns home.
Until then, I endure, and enjoy the bittersweetness of, the second.