Dear …
My legs are asleep. I would move them, but I don't want to wake you. You look so peaceful when you sleep – so perfect, like you belong to another world. I wonder what you dream about – you say you never dream but I know you do – you're just as human as the rest of us deep down somewhere. You say you don't cry either, though whether it's can't or won't I'll never know. You never seem to like being human, being fallible, being finite. You don't get enough sleep – I know you don't, no matter how many times you tell me that you only need 6 hours a night at most and if you get more than that you're overtired and that you'll catch up on the weekend on in the summer or when you're dead. Caffeine can't cure everything my friend. I still see those dark circles under your eyes even after your second cup of coffee. But you say that you need to stay up past midnight to get your homework done. Maybe you wouldn't need to if you didn't have play practice every day after school followed by work at that sweatshop they call a restaurant and committee meetings every morning and lunch. People admire you for doing so much, they're so impressed by your involvement and time management and good grades and they want to know if you could just give them a hand with something and I want to scream at them "Shut up!" and strangle them because I know they know that you'll say yes and they're not the ones that have to watch you – you! The epitome of control and beauty and humour and strength – they don't have to watch you burn out and come apart and break down and worry – always worry that there's something going wrong or someone's not happy or you should be doing something besides having a minute to breathe! It's me! I'm the one that has to pretend that I don't notice you've been crying, or that you fell asleep in class again, or that you've drawn into yourself and won't talk to anyone. I see you and it kills me because you won't slow down and listen to reason and tell people "No" and stop believing that you're a failure if you can't balance school with a thousand and one other activities. And people laugh when they see you with a travel mug – they say you're "practicing for when you're a high-powered executive" – they don't know that it's your God-knows-how-many-eth cup of coffee that day, that without the constant java kick you can barely function. Seventeen and a caffeine addict! I tell myself it could be worse – it could be booze or cigarettes or drugs because at this point you would be helpless against anything if it just took away the stress for a minute and sometimes I wonder whether you haven't thought about taking up smoking just to see if it does help and I thank whatever powers may be that you don't have anyone to buy them for you or give them to you even if you did. Knowing you, you'd challenge lung cancer to come and get you just so you could prove once and for all that you…are…invincible! But you're not. I see that more than ever now, sitting here with you asleep like this. You're just as human as me, and you do get tired. So sleep. I promise not to nag when you wake up – I know you hate it – but give me the satisfaction of feeling like I've helped you even a little. Just…sleep