When we spend the night together, I sync my breathing with his as we fall asleep. He doesn’t know that I do this. His breaths are somehow both shallower and bigger than mine. It takes time to match the pattern properly, to anticipate the rise all the way through the fall. The moment is meditative, a day’s last act, a private act of devotion. I do it because I believe it will help him rest better. I do it because it is pure listening and I am practicing a reflex. So that tomorrow I can serve before he asks.