A quiet night

In Manchester, lying in a dark room, a strange bed, unable to sleep, the smells and sounds all different. On the wrong side of the bed, a sickly neon bleeding through net curtains, my belly full from a rich dinner, the gym clothes still folded neatly in the suitcase. I curl left then right, then lie on my back and think about how I never sleep on my back. I tilt my pelvis and stretch my lower back, something I learned in yoga. My head is full of diagrams and people and random scraps of information; my subconscious is  slowly processing it. It's a big project I am working on, and there is a lot to learn.

I wonder if you're lying awake, too. if you thought of me, and what you are thinking.

I am in a soft mood, a sensual mood, tactile and warm and feeling. I miss being connected.to someone, experiencing warmth and touch, desire, love. I curl along the edge of the bed, turning my back on the emptiness, but all I feel is the cold.

I look forward to going home tomorrow, but I don't know why; the bed is still empty, and the hot water bottle provides artificial warmth. I will cook, make phone calls, iron clothes, maybe play a game with my brother. On Friday I will light candles and go to synagogue. I've already filled Saturday and Sunday with friends, perhaps presaging how lonely I feel on this quiet night.