Bedroom Eyes

            My eyelids flutter open slightly, and for only a second I am suspended in that time between being awake and being asleep.  Where you’re out of the world of dreaming, but still not part of the world of the conscious either.  In that second, I believe that you’re still in bed next to me.  Then it’s over.  I glance over to where you would be asleep, and all I find is empty sheets.  Pale, morning sunlight is dancing through the eyelet curtains that I’ve had for only God knows how long.  I stare at the patterns that are swirling on your side of the bed.  I remember watching them on your sleeping face when I woke up in the morning.  I was always awake before you.

            You’d always wrap yourself around me while you were sleeping.  You’d pull me in close and not let go.  Let me tell you; I have yet to experience anything nicer than waking up in your strong arms.  I’d often just lay there, tangled up in all of you.  I wouldn’t move or try to wake you.  I’d breathe in the smell of us; the mix of your Old Spice body wash and my kiwi shampoo.  As much as I loved you, I loved us even more.  I’d memorize the rhythm of your breathing.  You were always the one thing I could count on to be stable in the whirlwind of chaos that is my life.  Then you’d stir slightly, and I’d know you were waking up.  Your blue eyes would meet my brown, and we wouldn’t say anything.  Neither of us uttered a good morning, because it didn’t need to be said.  We both knew it was already a good morning.  We’d stay wrapped up in each other in bed, our cold feet rubbing together, and our smiles identical.  I remember it was waking up with you, when I was looking into your heavy lidded eyes, I realized that while I had never really liked blue eyes before, they were now my favorite color.