She lay in our bed somnambulantly observing the my side/your side rules of engagement… except for one leg making an unprovoked act of aggression on my side.
I let it slide. If you could see her beautiful face, sleeping, free from concern or coerced disposition, lips pouted, one hand curled next to her face, you’d understand. If she initiated a full invasion of my side I’m sure I could offer only a token defense. My villages would fall easily.
Looking at her, I couldn’t help but smile. I love her so much I feel it in my skin. I was wrong about one thing, though, my villages wouldn’t fall to her. They would throw their walls wide open in welcome. The traitors.
Trying to disturb her sleep as little as possible, I carefully, and with what was surely comical precision, lay down next to her. The blanket was not an option, no, it was a prized prisoner of war. She had it drawn up to her chin. I didn’t mind, I wasn’t cold.
I continued smiling without meaning to, as I took another moment to observe the strange and particular beauty of her face. It’s not that she is pretty, she is, I certainly think so, it’s the person that face represents, the words she speaks, the expressions unique to her, the sound of her cough that I would recognize anywhere, the kindness, the laughter, oh, the laughter still gives me butterflies, her eyes when it’s just me…
