The Man Who Said I Love You In His Sleep

He told me he wanted to spend every night together. I didn’t want to get used to sleeping next to someone again, but I caved easily. We gave sleep our best shot on the mattress on the floor of his loft, and throughout the night he would spoon and caress me, gliding his hands over my hips, my stomach, grabbing a handful of one breast, then the other. I slept like hell but I love this kind of thing. My ex would also do this after we separated, on nights we’d find our way back to each other, after weeks or months of missing human contact. Sleeping naked next to someone who is clearly very appreciative that you are sleeping naked next to them is, in my book, a top tier experience. Sleep quality be damned.

On our fourth evening of sharing a bed, deep into the night hours and deep into such acts of physical affection, he started to talk. He was never shy with compliments, and in a hushed voice began to tell me he loved how sophisticated I am. This made me balk. Anyone who knows me well would never claim I’m sophisticated. I’m a spilled soup on her sweatshirt, cowlicks in her hair, rough-around-the-edges type. (This should have been my first red flag - someone who doesn’t see me for who I truly am at first might have a bit of a reckoning once they do.) I’m still trying to wrap my head around this compliment when I hear his sleepy soft voice say it: “I just love you.”

I immediately tensed up in disbelief. We’d known each other for a few weeks, it was ludicrous to say I love you this soon. I figured the best response was to stay silent and pretend to be asleep. Still, I recognize that no part of me was scared off by this. In fact, I was happy. I felt like I could definitely love this man in due time, I was crazy about him anyway… and as a person with a long history of saying I love you too soon myself (just not this soon) it was nice not to be the initiator. It felt like maybe I’d stumbled upon something beautiful and good in the world.

Within a minute he started to snore, and I realized he must have been talking in his sleep. Or had he been awake, and fell back asleep? I couldn’t be sure. Maybe I’d just misheard him.

The next day there was no awkwardness, no sheepishness, no clear evidence that he was aware he’d said anything he shouldn’t have. I wasn’t sure it had occurred at all, much less what to make of it.

It happened again the next week, following the same pattern… caresses, compliments, “I love you,” and then snoring. But it did not occur a third time. Maybe he realized even then that he didn’t actually love me, or maybe I started sleeping better as I got more comfortable being around him and I slept through any subsequent revelations. I never heard him say anything else in the depth of night again at all.

At some point he mentioned that he was aware that he talked in his sleep, to which I confirmed I’d heard him. He asked what he had said, and I lied that I wasn’t able to make it out, trying to spare us both the awkwardness. I wondered if this was a way of posturing; that he knew what had slipped out, and was trying to cover it up under the guise of sleep talk. But who knows, really.

Two months pass, and we’re living states apart for most of it, the result of travel plans made before we’d met. “I miss you” floats around between us so often in texts and on calls that sometimes it feels like a substitute, dancing around the act of saying I love you until we are back in each others arms. As we get closer to reuniting in person I feel speaking it is imminent. I’d like him to say it first, with no doubts about his state of being awake this time- and I have every intention of saying it back. I feel so good about us and our connection. Everything feels right and real and meaningful. I am falling in love and I am certain of it being mutual.

I pick him up from the airport and we hug the long hug of two lovers who were separated at a terrible time for a budding relationship to be interrupted. “Do you want to fuck now or after dinner?” he asks with a mischevious grin when we get back to his apartment, and I immediately begin to undress him. It’s been nearly six weeks since we’ve seen each other- this reunion was long anticipated. The sex is every bit as good as I remember. I’m on top for a long while, dreadfully happy, and he asks if I want to change positions. I say “I’m good for now… if that’s okay.” He says “Yes, I love that. I love you.”

Again I’m struggling to understand if I heard correctly. It was said almost like he meant something else, but used the wrong words. Maybe it just slipped out. It was certainly not the romantic moment I’d hoped for. Saying it back doesn’t feel appropriate, partly because of the delivery and tone, partly because I’m a little preoccupied. I hope another opportunity will present itself over the weekend.

But the rest of the weekend doesn’t go as I had hoped either. Things feel off. There are several moments of negative tension that don’t make much sense. It leaves me very confused, and I find myself falling back into my old patterns of fawning and walking on eggshells which plagued my previous relationship.

The “I don’t think we should date anymore” comes quickly after that, an absolute suckerpunch. I am devastated. I ask questions trying to understand what went wrong. The answers aren’t adding up. He thinks we aren’t compatible, that we moved too fast. It occurs to me that maybe this is just some big misunderstanding, and I ask if this has anything to do with me not saying I love you back.

“When have I told you I love you?!” he asks, incredulously. He insists he has no memory of saying it two nights before, that I must have misheard him. I tell him he’s said it before too, although he was possibly asleep, and he defends himself rapidly.

“I was asleep, why would you put stock in something I said when I was sleep talking?”

“Are you really telling me you didn’t have strong feelings?” I ask in response.

“I had feelings, sure, but I wouldn’t say they were strong.”

The knife twists, so deeply.

Weeks pass. For such a brief romance the heartache is disproportionately heavy. It feels like I ran straight into a stone wall at full speed. Momentum, momentum, hard stop. We text just enough to get an ounce of closure. “Better to end it now than sleepwalking into a friction-fueled relationship” he says.

The cavern between what I believed to be true and reality is so vast that I have lost faith in my senses. Can I trust what I’m hearing with my own ears? Is my ability to read signals broken? Am I completely naive or just out of touch?

Most days now I find myself in a thick fog, disoriented - sleepwalking and sleeptalking my way through my work and social obligations. I put stock in nothing and nothing puts stock in me.

Most nights I awaken deep into the night hours, alone in my cold bed, and my brain gropes for information, asking am I awake now, or still asleep?