#73

Sleep's viney grips is tightening on your mind and body when she whispers I love you. You can feel the heat of her breath on the tiny hairs of your earlobe. The words reverberate down your spine. A tingly energy. A depth charge dropped into the whole of your being. You lay there, your body electric, wondering suddenly if you imagined it. Perhaps a ripple from an oncoming dream. But you dismiss this thought. You know it was real. Did she think you were asleep? A confession to your subconscious? Something that only could be said under the weight of blankets and darkness? Only in sheets still damp with your sweat, as you held each others naked bodies and drifted? You squeeze her tightly in response, press your body as close to hers as possible. Your skin and hers. No space. You want to say it back. The words dance on your tongue, they flutter in your mouth, seeking light. You weigh them in your mind and know they are true, and it surprises you that this knowledge does not surprise you. But you just squeeze. And soon, you are both asleep. You awake many times that night. Unsure and then sure again that it wasn't a dream. She snores softly in your ear as her dog chases rabbits at the foot of your bed. You can feel the life in the room and it makes you happy in a way you weren't sure you were even capable of. You are not alone. Not at all.