Sleep.
waitingwaitingwaiting
It was 5 AM and she was in her little halfway place – her zombie state, where she wasn’t awake or asleep. She was just lying there, eyes fixated on the radiating glow of the television, not really listening or watching the infomercial for rapid hair growth. Her foot accidentally grazes his and his eyes shoot open as he scans the apartment wildly, his breathing jagged and rough.
“Oh,” she says softly, feeling like shit for waking him up. It’s her insomnia, not his. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“That’s fine,” he says, leaning back against the worn armrest of their couch. “Why are you up, anyway?” he adds, crawling over to her and pulling her onto his lap. He strokes her chocolate hair with hints and traces of pink here and there and everywhere. She yawns and tells him, I can’t sleep.
“That’s a shame,” he whispers now. His eyes feel like bricks and he’s dying to snuggle into the multi-colored afghan and just sleep. But there’s something that he wants more than sleep, Arianna’s comfort. He’d do just about anything to see her smile. He’d die if that meant she could see just how perfect she really is. But I’m not perfect, she tells him, you are. And every time, he would disagree and they would argue, but it wasn’t a serious argument and it usually ended in a completely different argument based around who loved whom more.
For Matt and Arianna, it was a very love/hate relationship, but it was 90% love.
“Do you like… want something?” he asks slowly, his last few words slurred into a yawn. She shakes her head and leans against him, forcing her honey eyes shut only for them to snap open a minute later. A default reaction. “Are you sure?” he asks again, knowing that this time she’ll actually answer him. It was always the same; she’d give him an actual answer the second time that he asks. He did the same thing to his mother when he was younger.
“Well,” she starts, chewing on her bottom lip profusely.
“Just tell me,” Matt tells her, pulling her closer and closer until her intoxicating scent filled his nostrils. He couldn’t quite describe it; it smelled like a mixture of dog and strawberries. It sounds gross, but it’s truly enchanting. “Anything. Do you want to listen to the Chili Peppers?”
“Not now,” she replies, still chewing on her lip. He’s hoping that he’ll offer what she wants so that she doesn’t have to say it. She feels like if she asks for something, he’s forced to do it, but if he offers, he actually wants to do whatever for her.
“What do you want?” he snaps. She flinches, sandwiched between his muscular arms. For such a little guy, he sure was fit. “I’m sorry,” he tells her, “but really, just tell me what you want.”
“You should know,” she sighs. She thinks it’s fairly obvious. And she’s waitingwaitingwaiting until that light bulb appears above his brown curls. And he’ll say, oh, your lullaby, sure thing! But he doesn’t. He just sits there with a look of confusion painted on his face. He’s waiting for her to tell him and she’s waiting for him to guess. Waitingwaitingwaiting. He’s biting his nails, waiting. She’s chewing her lip, waiting. And they sit there, and they wait for what feels like a good hour.
“Your lullaby?” he finally squeaks. The corners of her mouth turn upwards into a crooked smile before she nods. He smiles, grabbing his bass from behind the couch. Their apartment was filled with basses, mainly pink ones, and amplifiers by the dozen. It seems odd to play your girlfriend a lullaby with your bass guitar, but Arianna wouldn’t have it any other way. They were devoted to the instrument and they were devoted to each other.
And he plays it for her. He attempts to sing, even though he’s always been self-conscious about his singing. Adam’s clearly the singer for a reason, he laughs. And she shakes her head again, pieces of pink tickling his nose, and says fuck Adam, you’re just as good. He grins again and continues playing. For anyone else, it would sound odd; just a bass with no other instruments, but to Arianna, it’s flawless. It’s just like heaven.
She falls asleep to Matt’s enthralling repetition of “sleep, ohh”. Sound asleep. And laying there, she looks like an angel. But that’s just because she is an angel. She’s too perfect for us earth-bound people. One day, Matt decides, she’s going to fly.
The next morning, with her hot sticky breath on his face, she asks him if that lullaby was new.
“Yeah, we wrote it together in LA while we were working on Louder Now. I wrote the lyrics, well Adam helped, and the guys wrote the music. We’re still deciding what to do with it.”
“Don’t put it on the CD,” she finally says, hands crossed over her heart, “I don’t care if you release it later, like, as a b-side or something, but for now, I want it to be all mine.” He promises that he won’t. He promises that she can choose the title. He promises that when and if they play it live, it will be dedicated to her always. And Matt Rubano kept all of those promises.
She named it “Sleep”. When Matt asked her why, she just shrugged and said that she liked simple things. He put his bass down, the strap had A.S printed on it in neon pink, and hugged her tight, kissing her forehead. “Really?” he giggles, “Well I like you.”
“Oh,” she says softly, feeling like shit for waking him up. It’s her insomnia, not his. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“That’s fine,” he says, leaning back against the worn armrest of their couch. “Why are you up, anyway?” he adds, crawling over to her and pulling her onto his lap. He strokes her chocolate hair with hints and traces of pink here and there and everywhere. She yawns and tells him, I can’t sleep.
“That’s a shame,” he whispers now. His eyes feel like bricks and he’s dying to snuggle into the multi-colored afghan and just sleep. But there’s something that he wants more than sleep, Arianna’s comfort. He’d do just about anything to see her smile. He’d die if that meant she could see just how perfect she really is. But I’m not perfect, she tells him, you are. And every time, he would disagree and they would argue, but it wasn’t a serious argument and it usually ended in a completely different argument based around who loved whom more.
For Matt and Arianna, it was a very love/hate relationship, but it was 90% love.
“Do you like… want something?” he asks slowly, his last few words slurred into a yawn. She shakes her head and leans against him, forcing her honey eyes shut only for them to snap open a minute later. A default reaction. “Are you sure?” he asks again, knowing that this time she’ll actually answer him. It was always the same; she’d give him an actual answer the second time that he asks. He did the same thing to his mother when he was younger.
“Well,” she starts, chewing on her bottom lip profusely.
“Just tell me,” Matt tells her, pulling her closer and closer until her intoxicating scent filled his nostrils. He couldn’t quite describe it; it smelled like a mixture of dog and strawberries. It sounds gross, but it’s truly enchanting. “Anything. Do you want to listen to the Chili Peppers?”
“Not now,” she replies, still chewing on her lip. He’s hoping that he’ll offer what she wants so that she doesn’t have to say it. She feels like if she asks for something, he’s forced to do it, but if he offers, he actually wants to do whatever for her.
“What do you want?” he snaps. She flinches, sandwiched between his muscular arms. For such a little guy, he sure was fit. “I’m sorry,” he tells her, “but really, just tell me what you want.”
“You should know,” she sighs. She thinks it’s fairly obvious. And she’s waitingwaitingwaiting until that light bulb appears above his brown curls. And he’ll say, oh, your lullaby, sure thing! But he doesn’t. He just sits there with a look of confusion painted on his face. He’s waiting for her to tell him and she’s waiting for him to guess. Waitingwaitingwaiting. He’s biting his nails, waiting. She’s chewing her lip, waiting. And they sit there, and they wait for what feels like a good hour.
“Your lullaby?” he finally squeaks. The corners of her mouth turn upwards into a crooked smile before she nods. He smiles, grabbing his bass from behind the couch. Their apartment was filled with basses, mainly pink ones, and amplifiers by the dozen. It seems odd to play your girlfriend a lullaby with your bass guitar, but Arianna wouldn’t have it any other way. They were devoted to the instrument and they were devoted to each other.
And he plays it for her. He attempts to sing, even though he’s always been self-conscious about his singing. Adam’s clearly the singer for a reason, he laughs. And she shakes her head again, pieces of pink tickling his nose, and says fuck Adam, you’re just as good. He grins again and continues playing. For anyone else, it would sound odd; just a bass with no other instruments, but to Arianna, it’s flawless. It’s just like heaven.
She falls asleep to Matt’s enthralling repetition of “sleep, ohh”. Sound asleep. And laying there, she looks like an angel. But that’s just because she is an angel. She’s too perfect for us earth-bound people. One day, Matt decides, she’s going to fly.
The next morning, with her hot sticky breath on his face, she asks him if that lullaby was new.
“Yeah, we wrote it together in LA while we were working on Louder Now. I wrote the lyrics, well Adam helped, and the guys wrote the music. We’re still deciding what to do with it.”
“Don’t put it on the CD,” she finally says, hands crossed over her heart, “I don’t care if you release it later, like, as a b-side or something, but for now, I want it to be all mine.” He promises that he won’t. He promises that she can choose the title. He promises that when and if they play it live, it will be dedicated to her always. And Matt Rubano kept all of those promises.
She named it “Sleep”. When Matt asked her why, she just shrugged and said that she liked simple things. He put his bass down, the strap had A.S printed on it in neon pink, and hugged her tight, kissing her forehead. “Really?” he giggles, “Well I like you.”