That was the first thing that popped into my head this morning. Before I opened my eyes, I felt the weight of his arm on my hip, flopped over across my stomach. I could hear him breathing, not awake yet. This is my favorite time of day, my favorite way to wake up. Love. Love in bed next to me, dozing in soft morning light filtered through a thin curtain.
Then he wakes up, the mood is broken, and we descend into ridiculous tickling, belly-button poking, pulling of armpit hairs (his). But love's still there, just like always. It runs under the surface of everything, every day. Even in the middle of a fight, the blood thumping in my ears beats out love for him.
You Are My Goober, and I Love You - 4.01.07