At first, I remember hating it. I used to grind my teeth, wanted to reach out and twist her nose shut, to shove a pillow over her face so that I could have the perfect quiet that allowed me to slip into my dreams. It was a gentle “huff-huff”, faint, even, but it was enough, just enough, to enrage me.
Why, why could she simply not be quiet?!
And then, well, I do not know when that hatred shifted to neutrality, and from neutrality to truth.
Now, now, I cannot sleep for lack of it. My business trips are engaged in by someone who has hazed and suffering the deprivation particular to insomniacs and drug addicts. Weekend trips to visit friends and relatives often tire more than they relax.
How was this mountain conquered? How was my great temper quelled? How was I reduced to needing the sound of another, the proof of the presence of another? What great power, what perfect magic?