I watch him sleep sometimes.
It’s a beautiful, peaceful way to study and memorize the features of the man I love without making him too uncomfortable.
I get lost in the depth of his eyes, or the way the moonlight caresses his curls in the night.
He talks in his sleep sometimes. Nothing recognizable, just mumbles of distress from time to time. But, I’ve learned if I scoot over…if I caress his hair, trace my fingers over his forehead and cheeks, wrap my arm around him or whisper “I love you” in his ear…he finds peaceful oblivion once again.
And I love that.
I love that, even in unconsciousness – I can bring him peace. I love that our bond is so strong… that our souls are so intertwined that I can calm him without him ever even noticing I tried.
I often laugh upon waking to find that we are both smooshed together on my side of the bed. It was his idea to get a king-size so that we’d have “plenty of room”…but somehow, morning after morning, I awake wrapped in his arms, crowded by the edge of the oversized mattress.
I don’t mind the crowding.
Instead, I find comfort once again that – even in his sleep – he craves me. He longs so desperately to have me near…to hold me...to feel me…and love me that he crosses the divide night after night to have me in his arms.
And, it’s a beautiful, unexpected thing to me that someone can love me so deeply in their core that even sleep can’t deter their affection.
I craved romantic love for so long, but this is so much more and so much better than anything my young fantasies could have conjured up.
Because I know I’m loved.
I’ve found it or, better yet, it’s found me.
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