I tried to write love without sentimentality, I doubt I suceeded.
I watch her sleeping every chance I get. As we lay there on that single futon, the slats digging through the ageing mattress. I watch her now, not like I watch her undress, but as a Father watches a newborn. I watch her in awe. So many days I have struggled, sleepless through grinding tasks, just on the memory of what she looked like in the dark.
I watch her sleep because I love to watch her heart beat as it almost lingers in the darkness. It seems to hang suspended in the still night air, refusing to depart that fragile, beautiful home. The first time she fell asleep in my arms I lay wakless till dawn, antcipating the next beat; they always came. I lay holding her tight, desperate to feel the chest rise and fall, to know she was alive.
Now as I watch her sleep I notice that single strand of hair. No matter how she falls asleep, that hair always hangs from the nape of her neck. It curls slightly around her shoulder blade, and like a serpent finds its way to those perfect breasts, guardians of a heart I feel as my own. There are so many nights I have finally slept, that hair curled around my finger, keeping it from what was mine.
I watch her every night because I'm scared of losing her. I watch her sleep because I know I can. I guard her when shes vulnerable because I'm the only one who sees it. I rarely sleep because night is like the first one. I do it because, as I recall those nights, I don't know they'd be enough, if this was to be the last.
I watch her sleep because I love to watch her heart beat as it almost lingers in the darkness. It seems to hang suspended in the still night air, refusing to depart that fragile, beautiful home. The first time she fell asleep in my arms I lay wakless till dawn, antcipating the next beat; they always came. I lay holding her tight, desperate to feel the chest rise and fall, to know she was alive.
Now as I watch her sleep I notice that single strand of hair. No matter how she falls asleep, that hair always hangs from the nape of her neck. It curls slightly around her shoulder blade, and like a serpent finds its way to those perfect breasts, guardians of a heart I feel as my own. There are so many nights I have finally slept, that hair curled around my finger, keeping it from what was mine.
I watch her every night because I'm scared of losing her. I watch her sleep because I know I can. I guard her when shes vulnerable because I'm the only one who sees it. I rarely sleep because night is like the first one. I do it because, as I recall those nights, I don't know they'd be enough, if this was to be the last.