she's there, down the hall, curled on her side in the bed.

she fell asleep waiting for you.

in the living room you take your shoes off, your socks, your jacket, your shirt.

you take your pants off, stretch, gather your clothing, and move down the hall.

the blinds cant block the dawn fully. you can see a few feet ahead.

in your bedroom you see her.

she's grabbed your toy and used it as her pillow.

it hurts you deep inside, a needle that digs into your gut and makes you want to stay with her, always, to protect her.

this woman who knows how much of your childhood is in this silly, ragged, dirty stuffed toy. and so she holds it when you're not around, without you knowing, just to keep a piece of you.

you put your clothing down and shut the door.

you light a candle.

you lift the covers up and move into bed.

the sheets are cotton, nothing special because you don't think about things like that.

but for her you'd buy a down comforter. you'd buy silk sheets. you'd make your own quilt if she said she wanted.

as you slide in you see she's wearing pajama pants with penguins on them and a red long sleeve tshirt.

she's beautiful.

you move close to her and kiss her, then pull away just to look.

you touch her face. you brush her eyebrow with your thumb and move down over her cheekbone, down to her chin.

and she wakes up. slowly and not completely. but she wakes up and sees you.

she smiles.

she smiles, pulls your arm across her body, brings you close, falls back asleep with her hand on your hip.

she, for some reason unknown to you, loves your hips, loves feeling them with her palm as she sits on, loves them almost as much as she loves the soft dip your back takes.

you've never had anyone love those places on you until her.