Letter #56: Writing Through Time

Here and there and sometimes here I've wrote letters to my future boyfriend. They were mostly written under blankets on my couch in my old apartment. Dreams and wishes that were fueled by past mistakes and what I had hoped for the future. But that was then and this is now. So new letters need to be written.

Dear Partner Who Wakes Up with Me Every Morning,

We don't always get to sleep in on Saturday mornings. Our internal alarm clocks are set to early. Adjustments in growing older, a baby's cries, a needy cat, our inability to be lazy for too long. All fair reasons for getting up with the sun and the perfect excuse for cups of steaming tea while still wearing pajamas.

But when we do ignore the alarms, and let the sun escape the curtains and filter into our bedroom, it's worth it. It's worth it for the way our snores stop and to hear the cat jump out of bed and run down the stairs. It's worth it to have your hand slip into mine and for my foot to find your leg. The two of us wrapped under sheets.

You whisper in my ear and pull back my hair to kiss me in a gentle haze that isn't quite ready to begin the day. And I mumble back an "I love you too" as I wiggle to get closer. This is as warm as we'll be for the rest of the day.

But when we do finally manage to push back the covers and start the day the newspapers to read, the candles to burn, the city to explore, the meals to prepare, the jokes to tell, and the laughs to be had fill in all the gaps.

And when it's all over there are those few minutes at the end of a night. When you're on your side of the bed, and I'm on mine. And the window is cracked and at least one bedside lamp is still glowing. And you're eyes are growing heavier by the second, a book dipping closer and closer to landing on your nose. And I'm already halfway to sleep, my own book thrown to the floor.  And my blanket is draped over my eyes. It's hard to remember the past. Because I never thought it could be this way.