Eyelids half-closed in slumber, I sigh a barely audible murmur as careless strands of her strawberry hair tickle my shoulder blade.  You would think that I’d be accustomed to this daily routine, but I always jump in surprise when she pecks at the nape of my neck with her kisses.  Feeling the inside of her thigh curl around my waist, I turn around to embrace her, and thread my arms through hers.

I greet her with a lazy grin as my eyelids flicker in adjustment to the morning light.  Hey sleepyhead, she smiles.  Searching her curious stare brings a new revelation with each passing view.  The blind-filtered sunrays that bring warmth to our intertwined bodies amplify the natural glow that emanates from her.  I’ll never tire of the visage of morning light that traces her profile and lights her hair ablaze.  She has such a great smile…  

What? she asks.  You’re beautiful, you know that?  Before she can utter a bashful protest, I brush my lips against hers to reaffirm.  Yeah, you are.  Our noses nuzzle as my hands stray across her skin, smooth to my touch.  Are you going to get up?  Nah, I reply.  I think I’m going to just stay here with you.   Her fingertips playfully run down my back.  You’re a dork!  I just grin, Yeah, I am.  I love you, you know.

She laughs, I love you too.  I crave her laughter, for whenever I hear it there is nothing that could wipe the dimpled grin from my face.  We make small talk, share kisses, and exchange jokes that only we could understand.  We savor the meaningful little things that most tend to forget.  I live to make her happy.  I live for that laugh.  I turn around as she spoons me once again and my eyes close in the welcome comfort that is her.

My eyes open and I’m swallowed by the darkness of my room.  Hey, baby- my voice echoes as I reach out to someone who isn’t there.  My arms come up empty and my hands clutch at wrinkled bedsheets devoid of her presence.  The routine we crave is robbed by the distance between us.  I briefly glance up at the ceiling knowing that her ache mirrors my own.

The blur of the alarm clock casts a red glow on the wall like an emergency exit sign.  I fumble around for my eyeglasses.  It reads 2:04 a.m.  I remove my glasses, turn over in a futile attempt to become comfortable, and close my eyes.

I hate that you’re not here.