She was laying on my side of the bed, as usual.
She was wearing cotton panties and a snug tank top, as usual.
I adored these things, as usual.
I walked towards her and began to lay down, on my stomach, on the edge of the bed. She wriggled over to give me room.
I laid half on her, resting the right side of my face on her ribcage, just below her left breast; a fine example of why I preferred them smaller.
She casually played the back of my head with her left hand, as the right lay motionless on the bed at her side.
Her chest rose and fell gently.
There was silence, except for the sound of her calm breathing and heartbeat in my ear.
I stared at the mound, that was her right breast, beneath the grey material. I moved my hand to it and lazily traced over and around its form.
Her heartbeat increased ever so slightly.
I wanted to see that breast bared before me, and yet I did not want to see it. Perhaps I was too enamored of the idea of it.
There were still other parts of her that I had not yet lain eyes upon, but these were uniquely special to me.
Partly, simple personal preference of shape and size.
Partly, something deeper in the human psyche that associated them with comfort and nourishment.
They were flawless.
She was flawless.
What if I was in a dream? It would not have been the first time I'd woken up from a beautiful dream world where I'd had someone. Granted, those someones always had faces half-muted by the fact that were dreams.
Her face was clear to me. Every tiny spot on her skin. Every eyelash. Every faint crease in her lower lip.
Was this perhaps simply just an unusually detailed dream?
Tears began to well in my eyes.
Will daylight lick me into shape, as the song goes, and a raging sea drown her deep inside of me?
I sniffed and a tear fell onto the material to be absorbed.
"What's wrong," she said softly, yet not in a way that offered pity. Even that I adored.
"You're perfect."
