Art
Working graveyard shifts allowed him to see many sunrises, but not even one was as bright as her. Not one rose to the occasion's life presented them. From the moment he first shared a night with her, and they awoke the next morning to bright light filtering into the room through the curtains, did he realize what he had been missing. She was right there, pressing herself against him, warming his side and his heart. Her hair caught up in tangles because of how much he ran his fingers through it. She rubbed her eyes and he melted. She pressed a kiss to his neck, those tangled curls tickling, and he thought he would die from her affections. She whispered a soft "morning" to him, her voice raspy from sleep but piercing his soul. When he whispered back "morning" he pressed a long kiss to her forehead, lingering there, loving how she leaned into him, wanting as many kisses as she could get from him.
She was all love. She surprised him with how soft she was. All he knew prior to that was passion, anger, pent up energy. He knew why she had been with so many other guys but now he knew why she never settled. She was wild, free, unattached and she thrived on that. She owned her life and was now sharing it with him like a private screening. He knew how she slept, how she tossed and turned, how she cuddled, kissed, loved. After so many mishaps in his life, good fortune had finally befallen on him. She wrapped herself around his soul and grew in his heart like a wildflower, daring to perch wherever she pleased.
As they struggled to rouse themselves and start the day, he watched her stretch, over exaggeratedly, her arms above her head, fingers touching the headboard before flopping them back down, sending waves of air in his direction. Playful. She detangled herself from the covers, kicking at them until they were bunched up at the end of the bed she was never going to make. He watched her shuffle around the room, snatching up random articles of clothing she decided on the spot to throw on for the day. He fought the urge to reach out and lure her back into bed and never leave. Once she decided on an outfit for the day, she slipped into it, turning to the mirror to start fixing her hair. His heart ached as she tended to each curl, teasing at them delicately to make them stay styled all day. He thought back to running his fingers through each strand as she slept and could not wait for the next opportunity to do so. Her movements around his room were like delicate brush strokes across a blank canvass. He had never spent so much time in here as he now did with her. It became a sanctuary. She made it her home and his favorite place to be with her. When she turned back to him, frowning because he was not ready yet, stabbing his heart with her pout, he couldn't help but grin.
"What?" she asked shaking her head, confused about his delay in getting ready.
"Just being lazy I guess," he said shrugging.
She knew the feeling, having to struggle to drag herself away from him each morning. But their life together was growing each day, discovering new things about each other, new feelings they had not explored or ever felt before. Simplicity was extraordinary in their world.
"I'll be downstairs," she said, turning to walk out of the room, a way to lure him to follow her because any second away from her was torture.
In the kitchen as he rounded the corner, finally dressed and ready to start breakfast, she was there, perched on the stool at the counter, reading the crossword puzzle from the paper yesterday, scrunching up her face as she thought of the answers to each clue. Her eyes darting across the page rapidly, expressions of realization every time she knew an answer delighted him. She lit up. She hummed. She waved the pencil back and forth anxiously as she worked. She bit her lip to concentrate. She was like a thousand photos being shot in rapid motion, unable to be contained to a single frame.