There comes calmness in the moment you hold the love of your life in your arms. I don't think I'll forget the steadiness of her breathing, the way that feels against my chest, for as long as I live. She has a habit of fisting my shirt in her hands while she sleeps, and I don't know if I can even fall asleep without that feeling. And the fact that the morning sun is seeping in through the curtains, framing her face so perfectly, is not helping my racing heart.
Her cheek is pressed against my heart, a strand of dark hair swaying back and forth as she breathes. I hate waking her up, but the face she makes is too adorable not to. I lean down to kiss her forehead while I slip my hand underneath her shirt, drawing patterns on the soft skin of her back. She scrunches her nose, the look that's unbearably adorable, and licks her dry lips. She smiles up at me, burying her nose further into my chest. If I thought my heart was racing before, it's running a marathon now.
"Goo' mornin'." Oh man, there goes that scratchy morning voice.
"Morning, baby. You sleep well?" I asked as she got comfortable on top of me, ready for her morning cuddles. Damn, I just realized how girly that sounds. I don't know what I'd do if I didn't waken up to my cuddle-bug every morning, though. So, I let out a content sigh and rest my arms against her back.
"Mmhm, we should get up and make breakfast." I smile because she's always hungry.
"Okay, let's go get food in that belly. It's talking to us." I giggle at the series of growls her stomach made.
I can't help but smile from ear to ear as I watch her make her way to the kitchen. I don't know what I did to get this lucky, but all she sleeps in is panties and a t-shirt that barely covers her perfect butt.
"Stop staring at my butt, baby!"
I could hear her giggling, most likely because she caught me red handed.
There's warmth in knowing the person you love more than anything loves you back. That warmth exists in your heart, and you can feel it consume the entirety of your being. Without that person, days seem duller and nights seem colder. You strive to give them the same warmth they give you. It doesn't matter how long you've been with them, because they've made a permanent home in your heart, and that warmth kind of stops /existing/ there; it becomes a steady thing that you don't have to search for anymore. It's just there.
"Baby? Are you gonna come help me cook?" Her voice never fails to make me swoon. Sometimes, if I'm extremely quiet, I can listen to her sing. It's not something she does often, and the moment she realizes I'm there, she stops. But, there are rare times I've been blessed to hear a complete rendition. I'm not sure if she's figured out that I've heard her, but that little smile she gives me, when she turns at the sound of my voice, gives her away. I stop day dreaming long enough to reply.
"Yeah baby, I'm coming."
Making breakfast together is something we've perfected over the years. Years. Oh God, I've been with her for four years, and every day feels like the first time I told her I love her. There's something so comforting in the way she moves. When she's home, and safe, she moves with ease, humming to her music. It's like the outside world, although never out of her reach, can't touch her. Her smile is brighter when there's familiarity. There's familiarity in the way I take her hands gently, guiding her through the things she can't see. It's funny how that works for making breakfast and for life, huh?
She's strong. Although, with every ounce of strength comes a shred of doubt. There's nothing that breaks my heart more than when her beautiful eyes fill with tears, and all I can do is hold her, trying my damnedest to show her she's worth everything people tell her she's not. I've learned how to deal with certain situations. I've learned the ins and outs of her blindness. Most importantly, I've learned who she is and what makes her smile. So, when she asks for my help, she doesn't mean do it for her. She means do it with her.
No matter what, I'll always help her strive for her best. She saved me at my worst. So, why shouldn't I help her become her best? That's the affect the warmth has on me. She's the sun. She's the stars. She's the warmth. She's my San.