Waking up is a process for the senses. First to wake up is the sense of smell. One minute you're dreaming you're in the kitchen, the next you're eating a loaf of bread. It's amazing how the smell combined with the dream becomes a thing to remember.
Next to wake up is the hearing. The clattering and banging and bumping. Shovels in dirt, dishes in the kitchen. The sounds work together to rouse you from that dream you seemed to be wandering through.
Once you wake, and open your eyes, your sense of sight takes over. You look around the room, bathed in the soft glow of the early morning sunlight. You have to decide, will you allow the dream to take over your waking life, just as it has your sleeping?
Sometimes you have no choice, the dreams of the past can overwhelm the contentment of today. But sometimes, just sometimes, that dream is so special, you want to hang on to it with both hands because you don't want to let it go. You want to save it for those rainy days that are sure to haunt you.
You move through your early morning routine, up and out of bed. Bathroom and brush your teeth. The taste of the cool mint and water wakes your tastebuds, Combined with the smell coming from the kitchen, makes your mouth water. You fight off the memories of a time you were so dehydrated you almost died. Instead you focus on now. You wonder what he's made for you today. You hope it's cheesebuns, because you've been craving them for about as long as you've been craving him- since the dawn of time you're pretty sure.
The feel of the soft clothes against your skin propels you on. You want something, but you can't quite name it. Or, rather, you're afraid to name it because what if the only person who wants this is you? He turns around at the sound of your clothes rustling into the kitchen, and you realize, no. You are not the only one who's craving something. His senses are on high alert, just as yours are.
You both smile a bit shyly. Talk about how you slept, your days ahead of you. He's going to the bakery, you the woods. Same as always, but maybe not really the same? Because something inside of you, both of you, is waking up. Like a bird, ready to take its first flight, the wings unfurl inside, a promise, a wish, a prayer.
KPKPKPKP
One moment you are a pair of eighteen year old's, hanging on to each other for dear life, afraid not so much of the dark, but what the dark can bring.
The next moment you are twenty-five, still clinging to each other in the dark, but also clinging to each other in the light for very different reasons.
Then you are thirty-three and you cling to him, breathe him in, for the solid rock that he is. He tells you to breath, to push, and then you hear a cry that sounds both beautiful and pathetic at the same time, and you know automatically. You never have to question this love again.
Then you are pushing fifty. You have scars on scars, but they are good scars, they are the scars of new life, two times around. You move slower in the morning, need glasses to help you read the fine print that the Capitol insist you read.
But your aim is still dead on.
In many ways, you're still that eighteen year old girl. You still need to cling to him in the dark. He is still the rock that keeps you grounded in reality, just as you are the bird who helps him soar.
You are the best thing in each others lives.