You're still curled up when I leave the bed. You got in late; your recording sessions have no time limits. You look so peaceful, curled on your side, your face so, so relaxed, your breathing deep. I want to stay in bed with you, curl into you, hold you, but I have to get ready for rehearsals.

It's our first day starting a new piece and it's always exciting. I can feel the butterflies in my stomach, the buzzing in my limbs, I'm raring to go. You'll be at the studio all day again, so I don't feel too bad that my hours might be long for this first week. You sigh in your sleep and roll over, clutching at my pillow, snuggling into it and it almost kills me. I almost crawl back into bed, back into you.

I turn around instead, shutting the door behind me, and head to the living room to do some stretches before I change my mind and quit my job and fold myself into your arms.

I put on the coffee- only making enough for myself. You're on a strict tea and hot water with lemon kind of kick right now, it's all about your vocal chords. Your beautiful, beautiful vocal chords. I'm so excited for the world to hear what they can do, baby. I've been hearing it for so long, I don't know how you've kept it such a secret. But, it's about to blow up like a balloon on a hot day and I can't wait to stand by your side and watch it happen.

I stretch for a few minutes while my coffee brews before fixing myself some yogurt and granola. You're lucky to have a porch out in the back of your apartment building, something that I searched this city for high and low. It looks like a nice morning, so I bring my breakfast outside. I love everything about this city, even the days I hate it. You always smile at me when I say things like that- you give me that look that says no one else could ever possibly be as brilliant as I am. And, when you look at me like that, I believe it.

My mind starts drifting to your sessions. You've brought home a couple of rough mixes of a few songs that you've laid down, but I haven't heard any finished products yet. I've seen you furiously scribbling in your songbook like you're afraid if you don't get the words out the second they pop into your head, you won't get them out at all. It's beautiful. You've been humming melodies around the apartment, not even realizing that you're doing it. Everything about this process, even the weird hours and your limited talking, I love. You're a genius and seeing you work, seeing the process is amazing beyond words and so, so sexy.

It's a strange feeling too, though. Strange in a good way, because I know all these songs are about me somehow. You whispered in my ear one night that you didn't know what motivation was, what a muse was, what art was, until you met me. It sent tingles down my spine and took the words from my mouth. Your eyes sparked with something in that moment, a fire so bright and so strong that I was overwhelmed. We both were overwhelmed.

One of the songs you brought home the other night was a ballad with so much of me, of your heart, of us, in it that I started crying. You looked worried, you're always worried to share your songs with me, and I had to hold on to you tightly before I could speak. Before I could assure you that they were good tears, happy tears, tears full of love. That your words were haunting, gorgeous, entrancing.

You're the most beautiful person I have ever met. Inside and out. You're always so cute and shy about showing me your love, showing me how much you care, showing me your heart. And you always act so surprised when I accept it, and open mine up to show you as well. It's like you can't believe I'm yours.

But, babe, I can't believe that you are mine.

And even though you act all shy about it, you'll always be open, honest, tender with me. I can see it in your eyes, in your actions, in your body.

The look you give me, that makes what you feel for me so palpable in the air, springs to my mind. It brings a smile to my face and tingles down my back.

I finish breakfast and decide to write you a little love note for you to find upon waking. I love doing little things for you. I remember the look on your face the first time I bought you flowers, it still makes my knees go weak.

I rinse my dish and place it in the dishwasher before pulling a piece of scrap paper off the grocery notepad. I scribble a cute poem on it, and a little picture of a cat purring at the bottom, before promising to see you later and signing off with a simple heart.

I tiptoe back into our room, you're still snoozing. Your breaths deep, rhythmic, satisfying, and I place the folded note over your phone, your initial on top. I brush my teeth and change quickly into my dance clothes. Before I leave the room, I brush my lips lightly over your cheek, whispering my love in your ear, hoping you'll hear it in your dreams. You sigh again in your sleep and my heart melts. Literally melts to the floor.

Reluctantly peeling myself away I head to the front door and grab my dance bag.

Today I dance better than I have every other day, because today I dance for you and my love for you. And my love for you grows every day. My dances will never be the same because my love for you will never be the same. It is ever changing, ever growing, ever evolving into something I could never imagine.

When you come back early that night, I'm sprawled out on your couch watching trashy reality tv that I don't have to focus on and eating popcorn. Your smile is huge, blinding, mine. You pull out a zip drive and squeal with excitement. You have your first finished song, it's all ready to go. I jump off the couch and pull you into a bear hug, only pulling away to kiss you like you want to be kissed.

You sigh into my mouth and pull away, too excited for me to hear your song.

I pull open the laptop and plop on the couch. You sit next to me and stick the zip drive in, opening the audio file when prompted.

The instrumentals that fill my ears are beautiful, it's a cute little mid-tempo ditty. You look at me, your face glowing, and I can feel your excitement and anxiety rolling off of you. When I hear your voice, I'm startled. I look from the computer to you and back again in disbelief. Your voice, your words, your song is my poem. My stupid little scribbled out poem. The one from this morning. The one that I wrote in two seconds. The one that I couldn't wait to leave by your sleeping body.

I feel the tears come before I can stop them and I hear my body exhale in disbelief. Your eyes are still sparkling, but now they are shining with unshed tears, too.

Before I know it your lips are on mine, your hands are tangled in my hair, your breath is against my skin. You say that it was the fastest song you ever wrote, you read my poem and everything came together in your head, the rest of the lyrics, the melody, the instrumentals, the tempo, everything clicked.

It's ready to go. It's finished. It's mixed.

It's us.

Yes, my love for you is ever changing. It's bigger now in this moment than it has ever been before.