I don't know what time it is. I roll over again and try to settle my head on the pillow. Sleep is elusive tonight.
"You awake?" you whisper.
I turn towards you and nod. It's dark but there's enough light coming from the streetlight outside our window to see a sliver of your face.
"What's keeping you up?" you ask. I'd like to tell you, but in truth I don't know how to explain it. There is a feeling in my chest that I can't name. My brain feels fuzzy. My eyes are tired. I close them and see the laundry basket full of wet clothes I forgot in the basement, and the footage I saw earlier of the earthquake damage in a small tropical area of the world. I need to remember to make a donation. How much would be enough? Who takes care of those people?
"Hey," you say. "Where did you go just now?"
I open my eyes to see that your face is closer to me. Your eyes seek mine in the dark. I can hear your gentle breath, the rustle of the sheets as you shift your body towards mine. You reach out and take my hand.
"I'm here," I say.
"Is your brain busy?" you ask. I nod, but I don't know if you can see me.
"Come here," you say, and move your body closer to mine. You put your big arms around me. My head is pressed against your chest, my arms are folded in front of me, and my hands tucked in fists under my chin. I am enveloped by you. You pull the blankets up over my shoulders.
"Let me tell you a story," you whisper. I take a deep breath. I am so tired.
"The day I met you, it was raining," you begin. "I was walking along the main street, looking for a place to buy an umbrella. I was thinking about all of the places I could be that weren't raining. I could be somewhere sunny and warm under a tree, somewhere dark and cozy with a stiff drink in front of me, somewhere in front of a fireplace with a good book. I didn't want to buy an umbrella. I had so many at home," you say.