The daylight falls through our window, landing on the window curtain covering our bodies, yours sleeping, mine in awe. Golds and oranges decorate your dreaming face with their shifting patterns. All I can think of is how warm you look. And still, even after all this time, I have to remind myself that I can reach out and feel your warmth anytime I want.

Last night, we sang each other songs and ran through our small maze of an apartment with squirt guns. In our room, the bed was too…something. So instead of pillows and blankets, we pulled down the curtain and made ourselves a caved-in tent with it. We talked ourselves to sleep with tales of ghosts and Indians and movie ideas. After your final yawn, I listened to your breath carry you forwards, through the beginning stage of sleep. I was a happy camper.

I am, once again, watching you sleep. I never understood why people did that until there was you. Your hair, the sort that reflects all those colors I don’t have names for, rolls in waves over your shoulders and my arm. Somehow, I still have feeling, even though you slept on it all night. Your faded shirt is dyed with good morning tones and displays the name of something from another world, somewhere far from the comfort of here. I want to stay under this curtain with you forever.