I am only an insomniac when it rains. The pitter patter of the raindrops reminds me of the pitter patter of cat paws.
(He liked to sleep at my feet when I could barely think, just to make me feel better. I think you used to tell him to.)
I wish I could wrap your memories around my spine and wear them as a backbone, because they are stronger than the arch my broken spined back seems to have developed of late.
(Spines are oddly brittle, and a lot like wrists. Easy to break and forever to heal.)
But I cannot depend of any of that anymore. So I wear red lipstick and high heels and go to parties and tell strangers how amazing they are to be wearing red lipstick and high heels and how different they must be to come to this party instead of the other one.
(All because you would hate parties and think nightlife is so stupid.)
It is what I do with my insomnia. Because my spineless back, the memories of you incessantly looped in my sleeplessly addled brain and the raindrops remind me how I am not like you. How I am not brave and how I hate parties but go to be closer to the version of you my memories are still looping.
When I come home, I kick off my high heels and smear my red lipstick across my face.
(And all that is left is a catless, thin skinned, broken spined girl, trying to learn how to be brave.)