Don't wake me up

Behind the song

Don't wake me up

The city is still awake behind the glass, but inside the room the night has become much smaller. A coat hangs over a chair. Two people sit close enough for a movement of the hand to feel like a question neither has asked.

Below them, the last buses give way to the first deliveries. Somewhere a shutter rolls up; somewhere else a light goes out. Ordinary morning is beginning its slow approach. They both have somewhere to be later, though neither has mentioned it since coming inside. For now, even reaching for a glass seems to make too much noise.

One asks the other to stay. Not with a speech, and not with a promise large enough to break the room open. Just a few words, spoken close. The answer is a hand left where it is instead of pulled away. The pulse of the song fills the silence they cannot quite manage themselves. If this is a dream, it has the inconvenient weight of something real: warm skin, tired eyes, a reason to be afraid of losing it.

A narrow strip of blue appears around the curtain. They notice it at the same time and pretend they have not. Nobody reaches for the clock. Morning will still arrive, and whatever waits outside will still need an answer. “Don’t Wake Me Up” stays with the smaller decision before all of that: for another breath, neither person moves towards the door.