requiem for a nap
I loved you truly, madly, deeply for three and a half years.
And now you’ve abandoned me.
It wasn’t an abrupt breakup, not the kind that knocks the wind out of your chest by its utter shock and surprise. No, you snuck away slowly over time. Disappeared for a day or two, then returned again, feigning faithfulness, smiling slyly as you assured me you’d stick around this time.
But as the weeks wound by, you grew more and more distant till you slipped away completely, only a fleeting glimpse of the stranger we once knew. And your leaving for good was just as harsh, just as cruel as any heartbreak I’ve ever wailed to mourn.
I’m left to learn how to live without you.
I tried to fling myself at the imposters and suitors that sometimes sauntered round to fill your void: Catnap, Car Nap, Quiet Time. But none of them could take your place, the beautiful hours of sweet silence we used to share together.
Oh, Nap. Dear beloved Nap. You were my standby, my stalwart, my savior. Some days, you were my everything.
So what now? How do I fill the ache left by your absence?
Each afternoon we mourn your loss, each in our own way. I whine to anyone who will listen; he wails and whimpers to the four walls of his bedroom where he’s been banished, where he waits without your soothing presence.
ALL DONE! he laments in loud protestation.
Me, too, sighs my sanity. Me, too.