February 14, 2009
It is rare for me to have a chance to watch him sleep. I am usually the first to fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow at night. In the morning, I am awakened by the aroma of steaming hot coffee in a mug beside me, just the way I like it: strong, with cream and sugar. He has usually been up for a few hours by then.
Often, he does not sleep well and gets up in the wee hours of the night to snack or pee or write down some ideas for the book he's writing. If he does manage to sleep in, he likely will suffer the consequences of a raging headache from lying down too long.
But this morning, I managed to slip out of bed without waking him and watch him sleep. There is something about watching one's beloved as he sleeps...an innocence and vulnerability that swells the heart.
This man does so much for me in so many ways. He inspires me with his creativity, determination and focus. He does little things every day to show me he cares (like bringing me coffee in bed or letting me have the last bite of ice cream.) He is considerate and selfless and generous and kind. He ungrudgingly allows me my freedom and space for solitude, as he needs his, too. He has integrity and a boyish sense of humor. He is tender with me. And his face lights up when I get home from work in the evening.
I couldn't help snapping some pictures of him as he slept, his hands beautiful and strange beside each other on the bed--one open in a gesture of offering; the other gently closed as if he were holding a treasure there: my heart.