11.18.03
Could you really love me?
He always rolls over, wrapping himself in the blankets and stealing them from me until I ask nicely if we can share. This morning, he lifted up his arm to make room for me. And we layed in a warm little cacoon of sheets and quilts my great-grandmother made. And when the alarm went off he held me where I was so I couldn't get up.
It's the moments where I'm about to fall asleep, when I feel him kiss my forehead or the back of my heed.
He's easy to forget, when he's not there. But he's so easy to remember when he is.
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