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Much like every other city sleeper, Jackie knew sleeping was an art not an act. Having moved from the country to the city almost a year ago, she had diligently mastered the art, ensuring her days were kept very busy so she was nothing but exhausted before heading for the boudoir. However, in the weeks following Dotun's brief visit, sleep had become scarce. As she lay in bed subconsciously reciting the speech she had carefully rehearsed for the moment she knew he would pop the question, she tasted the salty wetness of tears as they slowly travelled down her beautifully contoured face, pausing at her model like cheek bones before adopting a roundish bend to roll down the sides of her face, finishing around the corners of her lips and dripping to her Egyptian cotton 1500 thread count sheets. She had spent every other night in this state and as much she hoped for an end to this emptiness, she somehow knew tonight might be different, if only she tried a bit harder to push Dotun's memories out of her mind. Friends had come with their words of wisdom, encouragement, hope and promises of better days to come. Her mum had offered to ride the train down from Devon, despite her phobia of travelling and her disdain for her African lover. Yet, Jackie remained transfixed by memories of that moment when he walked away with no signs of ever coming back. So she did what she knew in her heart a lot of other women would do but dared not share. She stayed in anticipation of a sign, perhaps an unexpected call, the kind that you hold out for so long you pretend to have forgotten about. That which you hope would come when the night seems a bit too long for your thoughts or dreams and warms you up like a blanket on a cold winter night. As she tried to blink back the tears, her eyes stung and knew it was time to stop. She knew more than ever before that she wanted a sign from her long distance lover but true to form it never came. Partly waiting with abated breath, she used her remaining mental strength to attempt a telepathic message which she knew wouldn't travel past her bedroom door, obviously because what they had was no more. They had lost their spark and connection and like many others had failed to make it to the finishing line, even though they had run a good race. Her skin looked paler than she remembered and her hair felt limp and dry, just the way her world felt whenever she remembered his last words to her. She pulled out her outdated diary and did what she felt was her last shot at regaining her sanity. She wrote. The more the words came, the closer she came to the brink of sleep, till she finally fell into a deep slumber. In the morning, she rose, full of ambition and hope, rushing off to the post office, satisfied but still very much anxious of what was to be of his unexpected call, following her heartfelt letter.
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