The Morning After

I lie there awakened by the muted rays of the morning sun peeking gleefully through the blinds, dancing across the ceiling boards. You sleep on peacefully, nonplussed in your quiet dreams. I almost stop breathing so as not to disturb you, as you tucked me in cosily against the curve of your shoulder, arm draped across your chest. Your naked arm is gently sculpted, more wax than stone, muscle tone slightly defined and skin velvet to touch. I raise my hand and run the outside edge of my thumb slowly up your arm, the back of your hand, the little bump on your wrist, sliding up the arm and the curve of your elbow.

Is it so strange that when everything flies by us so fast and furious, that we seek each other to anchor in reality? When my crazy ideas have threatened to run wild you have reeled me in to see sense. When my unbounded ambition has started to soar away you have grounded me down to be real. Is it really so strange that two people can understand each other so perfectly, yet not be together?

That morning is unique, yet mundane in its unprecedentedness, for there shall be no dawn like the one after the first night. In this light of daybreak we shall never see each other the same way again. You will forever be my first, and I always yours. And in that passage of night, we knew that everything had evolved, and yet nothing had changed. Dare we really say that let whatever comes, we will keep our covenant? That we will be one, in my mind and heart despite the distance? Who gives us the right to make such sweeping pronouncements of interminable proclamations with faces aglow and hearts alight?

You imperceptibly nudge into my thoughts, your serene face nuzzling into my neck and your sleepy lips whispering unintelligible words to the pillow fluffed up under me. Like polaroids of life, the scene becomes a snapshot confined to history. I slide my fingers through your hair, unlocking the tangles of life's mysteries the night comes and hides as you sleep. As your eyes start to flicker with awakening, I wonder what dreams have been unfolding on the picture screen of your mind. But most of all I stare at your still-closed eyes, hoping to see your first look as you awaken.

Every day we meet people; sometimes we meet new people, sometimes the same people. And in each meeting, like bodies in space swirling about and whirling with gravitational fields, we influence each other. We go through life looking to revolve near a planet that spins with us, whose moons sow the least discord and reap the most joy amongst our moons. I hold you tight, hoping that our moons have asserted themselves and come to an accord. So brown they must be true, your eyes slowly open. A reflection understood; one day there'll be no will left to fight, but for now we're going to be alright.