She shifted slightly and mumbled sweetly in her sleep, eyes still closed, a faint smile on her lips. I stretched and groaned and cracked my eyes just a bit to look over at her. Her closed lids flickered softly, no doubt dreaming of pretty things. I pulled her closer and breathed her in deeply; this was content in action, this was happiness, this was a dream realized.
The room bathed in a soft blue light, the moon cast such tender angles through cracked shades. She stretched and rolled over, snuggling her back into my chest, pulling my arm around her like a blanket, warm, safe, content. I kissed softly behind her ear and buried my chin into her shoulder, next to her neck. I thought about how perfect this was, how perfect she was, how perfect she made me. The stubble of my chin tickled her neck like it always does, and she mumbled something else, still more asleep than awake.
I traced my finger tips from her shoulder blades down along her side, past her willow tree tattoo before settling on her delicate hip, pulling her tight against me. I left soft kisses on her back, and she murmured her approval. She reached a hand over her shoulder to pull me in tighter, and I smiled. This was safe, this was comfortable, this was home. Her short sideways haircut stuck out at all angles in her sleep; it’s the little things that we love the most. I drifted away, my lips still pressed against lithe shoulder blades; smiling.
The comfortable brightness of the mid-morning sun brought me back from my dreams. I groaned and stretched again, rolling over to kiss her, grab her, tickle her, thoughts of lazy coffee in bed already in my head. Instead of her sideways haircut and highly kissable shoulders, I came up with a rumpled mess of blankets and pillows. Opening my eyes fully, I realized that she was gone. I leaned back to stare up at the ceiling, remembering. This is Portland, and she was never here.