There's something a bit unsettling about the waking up next to a person that you never thought you would ever wake up next to. Your loneliness has been a part of you and it become something you took pride in. You had spent the last couple of months -- and some would say the past couple of years -- thinking and dreaming about finally being alone.
Since the age of seventeen, you've been in and out of relationships. You were kind of like the metallic ball that bounces in and around the innards of the pinball machine. And each bumper, each blinking light was another person. Another embrace, another kiss. And often times -- as with the case of actually playing pinball -- you'd fall through the center, flippers unable bounce you back (metaphorically, of course). And with that you'd be done and need to drop another fifty cents into a slot so you can play (metaphorically, again).
But that isn't the case now, at five-thirty in the morning, you're looking at her face in the soft sunlight coming through the blinds. The sun probably hasn't risen yet and neither has she but you find yourself stuck, the way roosters are stuck staring and waiting for the sun to show its face and right now she is your sun.
This is worrisome to you because you never, in the short amount of time you've been alive, ever wanted to have someone be the air in your lungs. You wanted, you planned on being your own air, your own sun, but right now that isn't the case. And that doesn't mean that you aren't your own anything, because you are your own something and you have been but you aren't really sure what you really -- or, actually -- are.
You try not to get lost in your thoughts for a second because you need to take in every second that you have with this person because you don't know how long it will last. You watch her chest rise and fall, slowly and surely. You watch her eyelids, they're shut and you can tell the eyes inside of them are moving because there's slight twitching and you wonder what she's dreaming about.
And it's this moment, this quick second, that you realize that you are more in love with this person than you have ever been and it's scary because you do not want to tell her. You do not want to share this giant piece of your heart with her but you still feel lucky to have met this person in the way you did.
You lightly grab her hand while she's asleep and caress the back of her hand and try to tell her what you feel with the way you touch her and maybe subliminally she will understand that you love her and you hope that maybe she will reciprocate the same touch that'll tell you, yes, I love you too.
And even if she doesn't, there's something inside of you that still feels fortunate and grateful and thankful and all of the words that you can't think of right now because it's five forty-five in the morning and you haven't had your coffee yet. You're still just trying to take it all in and there she is, she's waking up because of your touch and you kind of tense up.
Hey, you say.
Hey, she smiles back at you. She's nervous because she just woke up and, well, morning breath.
You smile at her and she says, I love you, she pauses, is that okay to say?