Dreaming
I know
'Cause I'd spend half this morning
Thinking about the t-shirt you sleep in
I slide out of bed after a few minutes and wince as my feet hit the cold wood of the floor. The chilly air in my room makes goosebumps rise up on my arms, so I quickly run to my closet and grab his sweatshirt from a low hanger. As I slip it on over my pajamas, I instantly get a wave of his scent. I go weak at the knees, and I press the sleeves of his sweater to my nose to make it stronger. My eyes close, and I have to smile. I can imagine Drew now in this sweatshirt with it hugging his tall and muscular frame. His build has always stood out to me, and since we've been dating, I've been able to appreciate his muscles a little closer.
Drew doesn't dress lazily or not matching as most boys in our high school do. He's got a pretty amazing sense of style, and he out-dresses me sometimes. The sweatshirt I wear was a soft blue one he bought from Hollister a few years back that I've fallen in love with. He always lets me borrow it when I get cold in school and foolishly forget to bring my own-but, sometimes I'll forget on purpose to get his sweatshirt, and I've taken it home multiple times. I always end up falling asleep in bed with it on, but it comforts me to have his aroma around me, like a hug from the giver himself.
Garbed in his sweatshirt, I seat myself in the plush swivel chair at the desk my father made for me. I grab a pencil from my Mason jar of pencils and tap it onto the desk. I don't eat breakfast, usually. Drew and my parents say it's a bad habit, but I don't care. I'm not usually hungry in the mornings, so I don't bother with eating cereal or oatmeal or even a bagel. I hate wasting good food just for the satisfaction of eating it.
But, I digress.
I love food; maybe even a little too much. I'm nowhere near overweight, but I eat so much that my father makes little comments about where the food actually goes when I eat it. I just shrug him off. I've never even thought about where the food goes. Maybe it goes to my brain, as I am a 4 GPA student (almost) and I've been on Honor Roll since I was in 5th grade. Drew always says that I'm way too smart for his own good, but I always backhand with comments about his strength and smarts when it comes to sports and working out. He promises he'll make me run laps with him one of these days, but I always beg him not to with silly excuses.
I close my eyes, and yet again, think of him with his own eyes closed, laying under the covers of his bed. It brings a smile to my face, and I grab a notebook from underneath my desk.
I know what I'm going to draw now.