'to hold her.' – narrative poetry.

i.

'God damnit.'
A soft muffle rough against the surface of the pillow.
Brown waves move to check the illuminated clock
it is currently 3:45 am.

The earth was surprisingly still alive of a night
from the sounds of car doors shutting hard from residences of late night shifts
to the simple tunes of an old fifties record from next door.
But that had all quickly deceased once he woke up restless.

Currently,
it was just his own room that was alive.

From the strings of fairy lights,
hung across the room in an orderly fashion
to the piles of unnoticeable school items
and clothes that cannot be recognised.

Then the smaller things took notice;
like the small droplets of rain on the window
to the marathon of 80's romantic comedy movies on his TV set
on the lowest volume possible
and finally to the light pink curls settled on his shoulder,
her face covered ever so precisely.

There was something about her
something that was unlike any person that he managed to be attracted to.
He not only loved her and admired her intensely
but adored her immensely.

Her face slowly shifted to face his,
eyes blinking ever slowly to her own rhythm.
She let's a hand fall onto his cheek.
'Go back to sleep.'

With a slight tug to his sleeve to pull him down
to hold her close.
A slight whisper of gentle compliments.

'I love you.' He let's out.

'I know.'