You are such a beautiful human being.
In the quiet of the morning, in the empty space of time between dream and consciousness. In the slow moments when I wake just before you.
I hear your slow, steady breathing, which slowly builds into a crescendo of a snore. And I smile to myself. Recalling your adamant claims of doing no such thing. And all the times your body has betrayed you the next morning.
My eyes trace the outline of your eyes, the full brows above it. Normally furrowed, especially when you shake your head at the idiotic – though frightfully endearing – things I say, are now relaxed, calm.
I look at your full cheeks that you dislike so much. Even when you sleep, they are bright and radiant. Much like you.
You stir. Your eyes trying to peek open.
I close my eyes. Pretending to sleep.
I feel your arms close around me. The warmth and smell of your sleep still surrounds you. Enveloping me, bringing me home.
You kiss me on my face. Once. Twice. Thrice. I smile.
I stay where I am. Snuggled in your embrace. Waiting for the low growl of your voice to wake me up.
Your snore fills the silence.
I laugh quietly. And look up at you. At how beautiful you are. And how you’re mine.