While you were sleeping, I found inspiration to write. I watched the halo of light from the setting sun spill in through your bedroom window and kiss your skin in a way I couldn’t help but envy. Moving slowly over your cheeks and your shoulder blades, down your hip bones. Casting golden spells over all of the parts of you that I can never seem to stop touching. While you were sleeping, I watched in fascination as your lungs exchanged oxygen for the stuff that plants need to survive. I felt the forest in my chest aching, begging to grow in your direction; desperate to lean toward your light. Limbs and roots eager to touch you, too.
While you were sleeping, I finally understood why people put up with the things they do for the sake of love. I understood why everything that has anything to do with art begins and ends there. I understood why this emotion and form of existence is the breeding ground for creation, hope, and purpose. I finally understood why nothing before you has ever worked out.
While you were sleeping, I realized that the human anatomy is art all its own. For the first time, I found validation of the theory of Creationism. There is no way you exist by accident. There is no way that your beauty is simply a result of coincidence; Random strands of evolution, and lack of consciousness. I am thoroughly convinced that someone, or something divine conscientiously put a lot of effort, love, and thought in to stringing together your bones and forming your existence.
While you were sleeping, I found God. I confided in the cobwebs on your bedroom ceiling; Naming them, after all, that is holy, and prayed harder than I ever have before.
I prayed that, just maybe, you were dreaming of me.