Jetlag by Bader Shehab

​“It was like a golden arch when the sun rise came knocking on the door hinges, the windows were dark but when I saw that residue of dust particles hitting the underside of the door – it was spotless yet profound when my eyes tried to follow each dust particle. They kept me awake somehow…” I slammed my fifth shot of moonshine on the counter and the bartender signaled closing time. He held both his arms across his chest while throwing a piece of cleaning cloth over his shoulder. I looked back at Mr. Paul Marrane and there he was examining my every move and the hysteria behind my impulsive heartbreak poetry.
“In other words, you held her all night, careful as to not wake her up. Are you the light sleeping type, I suppose?” He asks.
“A falling leaf in a Welsh autumn could jolt me awake, believe it or not.” I exaggerated.
“The Russians have a saying: ‘the more you know, the less you will sleep.’” He brilliantly replied as he took a last lips-deep sip of the 2004 Napa.
“When I first met her – it felt like she was all I needed to know. And ever since then; I slept like a guard dog at the gates of a live Czar’s castle.” I played with the shot glass reflecting the sin-dim bar lights. “You know, when a significant other speaks, and it feels like their words – I’m more sensitive to words being a hopeless novelist and all, haha! Her words are fine interweaving of Chinese silk, the queen’s honeycombs, or a shell art gallery by a pufferfish. You know, the last piece of garnish atop a gourmet dish or some nebulae disappearing into the mist.”
“Otherwise, you were what the culprits at the assassination of Julius Caesar claimed, were blinded by love.” He raised his empty glass and I did the same. “Here’s to a lifelong dream of sleep deprivation in the name of caressing.”
“I’ll drink to that, I’ve drunk to stranger things, stranger than a Dostoevsky opening scene, haha!” I replied.
“And, since you are a traveling man, living between the lines of the ashes of a burned novel, much like myself, haha… perhaps I’ll leave you with one more line of my fine poetry.” He smiled ear to ear and even the bartender took interest. “She was the sleepless night I looked forward to in every sunless day – the jetlag of my woken soul, in her sleeping breath I was lost.”

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