While you slept, I thought of Rossetti. I wondered if your dreams were sinking and sliding. I pondered over what new woods and streams you had left for.
While you slept, I thought of Keats. I was puzzled why Sleep had soothed your eyes with its hymns and not mine. Perhaps it’s my misfortunate but my curious conscience just wouldn’t cease.
While you slept, I thought of economics. I calculated the opportunity cost of all this thinking and lack of sleeping. I drew possibility frontiers in my mind. I thought of the inputs, of the labor of neurons drained from my mind, of futile outputs they concluded. I thought of looming assignments. I solved a question or two, I gave up on another. I made lists of tasks, of readings, of books. While you slept, I became efficient, categorizing and planning against the background noise of your occasional snores.
While you slept, I decided to survey the skies. All I could perceive were specks of moonlight that peaked through that lonesome window. The darkness raged and consumed all shadows. I couldn’t see; I did not have daylight on my side. But I could feel.
I felt the outline of your arm as it cushioned like a secondary pillow. The peaks of muscle, the softness of skin and the entanglement of limbs. I could feel your breath against the back of my neck. The warmth of your breathing was potent. My thoughts rendered in defeat. All doubt subsided. All scattering confusion ceased.
In your arms, watching you like this, I gained stability and clarity. In that moment, I discovered a certainty I never wanted to awake from. Because that moment, while you slept, is when I entertained the thought, and pondered maybe just maybe, I might just begin to love you. And with that comforting realization, my eyes fell heavy to the lullaby of your breath. Slowly, I departed from the awakened and set off with you to the unconscious realm of dreams.