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profile entries tagboard links
to write;
"...I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting for their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free."

-The Peace of Wild Things; Wendell Berry

Saturday, November 07, 2009, 14:16
the early morning.

Prompt used: "There are a million important things to do. But none as important as lying here next to you."

x


© CSJY 2009
All rights strictly reserved. Thank you.

The drowsy sun paints the blankets a languid orange as I open my eyes, mind still tangled within the folds of slumber. Beyond the curtains I can hazily make out the crimson hues of the waking world, and to my right I can feel you stirring.

The silken sheets flow against my skin as I roll over to watch you. You are silent but for your soft sighs of sleep, face open and vulnerable to anybody who would care to look. Gentle breath fills you, and your chest has its own rhythm of crests and dips.

I wonder what you are dreaming of as I run fleeting fingers across your cheek, then through your tousled hair. In this room there is nothing more alive than you, vivid against the pallor of the pillow. No, certainly not the red flowers in the faded blue bedside vase, or even the luminescent face of the madly-ticking clock. You are far too beautiful.

I reach over and pull the cord. The curtains are drawn. Sunlight sneaks in at last, spilling over the contours of your body, gifting you with a golden glow. I turn to look at you, admiring the way the rays dance across your skin and hide among the creases of your t-shirt.

You blink awake then, and smile, yawning as your eyes fill with the radiant dawn. I look away, embarrassed at having been caught staring. Still you reach for my hand, and entwine your fingers with mine. I cannot help but notice that the spaces between them fit perfectly. Wanting to be closer, I wrap an arm around you and pull you to me, so we can lie there, skin to skin. I bury my nose in the hollow of your neck; your scent is that of wet earth, mingling with the faintest trace of sweat. It is quiet, except for our breathing.

There is a rustling as you ease yourself from my grasp, stretch the weariness from yourself, and get out of bed. I am sure your thoughts are brimming with the things you'll do today. I watch you go about your routine, already missing your warmth.

I'll never tell you this, but every morning I wake up just to see the sunrise in your eyes. To see them fill with the knowledge of being alive another day. No matter how long the to-do list, it is always enough to wake up next to you.

x

Draft I.
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