I'd wake up hours before him everyday. It didn't matter when I went to sleep. Four different 4-star hotel rooms in less than a week and every fucking morning the sick, gray midwest light slid around the curtain to greet me. Sometimes I walked over to the window and sometimes I didn't. I was too lazy to put clothes on and a little shy about peeping around the curtain.
He hates it but I like to watch him sleep. Years slip from his face and I know the man he was when he was 22. I think up my dirtiest fantasies when I watch him sleep in the mornings.
In the night, it's all different. I hate when I wake up in the night and cling to him and he sleeps and he sleeps. I feel divided from the outside and alone because he's turned away from me. On his stomach with a million pillows. I have to be careful because he's one of those boys who tends to wake up ready to fight and I want to keep my nose unbroken and lovely.
But, if I'm careful, I can wrap most of myself around him or next to him and breathe the best part of a boy. Where his neck and shoulder meet. I try to feel like I'm not the only one up in the entire world but it unsettles me when I'm so awake and touching so much of him and he sleeps on and on and on. Dude, why do you feel so far away from me then?
Occasionally, if the girl gods shine on me, he wakes in the middle of the night and he holds me. He tells me how small I feel to him. How little I am.
Back in the hotel, I woke up remembering him holding me in the night and it's terribly, terribly girly but I really smiled about that shit on those silver mornings.
I know for a fact he's totally asleep while I'm writing this and he's been asleep for hours. I'm several states away from him and my night has been a bit pathetic for those reasons.
