Sleepless in London

Light Red Over Black (1957) Mark Rothko/Tate Modern

Can’t sleep. Feel sick and excited at the same time. It’s late and I have a sore throat.

One cloud, two clouds, three clouds... Cloud counting into my head.

Your hand and mine are sleeping together but we can’t. Your heart is beating into my palm. It feels like a small miracle trapped into your body, right under my hand. The beat is hasty and full of life. Your heartbeat is distracting the cloud counting into my head.

My eyes open and search for yours into the darkness.

It’s late, we are tired, we should sleep.

Eyes closed but mind awake. Rothko’s murals, dim light.

Goodnight.