As natural as can be he lies there sleeping. Thick lashes fluttering with dreams, I wonder what he sees as those eyes go left and right, up and down. In the soft golden sunlight that peeks in through the drapes he almost looks like he has a halo, mussed up hair glowing in the morning's kiss. How had I stumbled upon such an angel? Careful to not wake him I run my hand along his back, his skin as smooth as always, like a babies despite reaching his third decade. Peering over the side of the bed I chuckle at the covers that lie ruffled on the floor. Clearly it had been another restless night for him, but he'd not been sleeping very well for a while. I don't mind, I seem to not notice any more, his heat is more than enough to keep me comfortable through the long nights. Lying there with him on a Sunday morning was always when I feel closest to him. Once again I run my eyes along his body and snigger into my pillow. Those damned pyjamas, if they even counted as that! A pair of old jersey shorts, dark blue with a red strip, he had owned them since I'd met him I was sure. Though then again he was a creature of habit, always had been, always would be. Probably another reason I loved him so much.
With a sleepy mumble he rolls over, bones cracking as he goes. Silly old man. His arm laxly sprawls out over the edge of the bed, fingers curled slightly, golden wedding band glittering in the sun merrily. Those red lips that are slightly parted, I watch them closely, what a smile he had. Such wonder. Then there were the little freckles scattered across the bridge of his nose and sharp cheekbones. How was it possible for a man so strong to be so adorable at the exact same time? I can't help but blush as I run my hand over his smooth chest and down his toned stomach, he giggles in his sleep and scratches his 'inny' belly button. I can scarcely count the amount of times I'd stuck my finger in there and tickled him relentlessly. Though he never seemed to mind, not that he was able to vocalise it if he did - far too much laughing.
On the dresser sits the silver watch I gave him on our third anniversary, why he'd kept it all these years I'd never known, I suggested time and again he bought a new one, but he just assured me it was precious to him. There was nothing to replace it with apparently. What a romantic he was, but I was sure he'd had it repaired thrice already. Next to the watch the lamp we were given on our wedding day and one of his ties draped over that. Mucky pup. Beneath the cream shade was a photo of us on holiday seven years before. God we looked so young. Those long walks by the sea, the salty air ruffling my hair and making his shirt billow about. The nights out dancing, the days that slipped by slow like honey dripping off a spoon. I smile and lose my balance.
He wakes with a start and looks around wildly, a chill running up and down his spine. Thick lashes blink with tears, I wonder what he sees as those eyes go left and right, up and down as though searching for answers. In the golden sunlight that peeks in through the drapes he almost looks like he has a halo, his mussed up hair glowing in the morning's kiss before he yawns and scratches his head, smashing the halo into simple tufts of daftness. How had I stumbled upon such an angel? Careful to not startle him I run my hand across his cheek, his skin as smooth as always, like a babies despite reaching his third decade. At my touch he shivers again and looks right at me, as though looking straight through me his eyes scream out in confusion. Again they mist over. There's a knock at the door, it creaks open slowly before two streaks of laughter rush in, smiling as they race to hug Daddy.
I stand away from the bed and watch them clamber onto him, he holds them close but still seems lost. Eyes scanning the room for the one he had lost. Eventually he snaps out of it and responds to their cheers for bacon sandwiches. First he scoops up little Emily and messes up her golden locks, then he taps Jasper's button nose before beckoning them out to head for the kitchen. Of course they do as told, they were such wonderful children. I'd always known they would carry on that way once I was gone. Jasper was the very picture of his Dad, little Emily had my eyes though. They both had our love. As natural as can be he lies back, reaches for the photo and kisses it softly. Then with a sigh he rolls out of bed with a soft smile. Every morning he kissed that frame, though then again he was a creature of habit, always had been, always would be. Probably another reason I love him so much.