I watch her while she's sleeping. She's nothing short of an angel; the way her eyes flutter when a breath is taken in or how a shudder passes through her body every time those blue eyes move under their lids. Its times like these I'm thankful to God this woman is in my life. Not a day goes by that I'm not.
A lot in my life has been less than blessed. I've seen heroes beyond a child's best dream and, also, the most macabre nature of a grown man's deepest desire. They call me a champion for living through these experiences but little does anyone know that I'm nothing but a coward. I'm a straight up, yellowed bellied coward. The only reason I've put on the brave front, and been perceived as such, is because of the slumbering woman next to me. I couldn't damage her view of me. I had to be strong for her, and I still am.
So many wars I've fought and all of the love of a woman. Poetic, isn't it? I'm not a contemporary "romantic" man or at least I wasn't before I met her. Now there are so many things I see doing for her. Yet, the craziest thing in this sadistic world is that she's not mine. This amazing, incredible, enchanting lady of dreams that I'm mesmerized by isn't mine. Once again I am degraded by the cowardice that itches at the base of my heart. She's my best friend, my soul mate, and has no clue that I'm madly in love with her.
She shakes again and turns in her seat, pulling the tiny airline issued blanket up around her shoulders. I instinctively reach around to help her. A small smile forms on those beautiful lips.
"Thanks." She mumbles before escaping back into sleep.
"Anytime, Jill." I respond, gazing at her. "Anytime."