It’s dark, but I can feel my way around the room. From my spot in the doorway I see the bright numbers of the alarm clock lighting up the bedside table. The redness glints off of his glasses, which rest atop a book; the cover curled, pages frayed. Smiling, I continue, my feet ghosting over the carpet as to not wake him. I extend my hands, feeling along the side of the bed. I lean, gently reaching out, my fingertips grazing his shoulder. My hand clenches the sheets, fingers curling around them, as I slide into bed beside him. The springs heave in protest, fairly unused to harboring two bodies, but the tired man remains asleep. Releasing a held breath, I hook my arm around his midsection, my skin happy to feel his warmth through his shirt. He shifts slightly, though I know he won’t wake.
My legs fold up and I bury my face into his shirt after I pull up the covers over us. Much like a kitten, I am curled up so close to the one I love. Here at home, with him, where I belong. I can finally close my eyes.