He's always there, pushing for a moment of his own.
Will he win, or will he get pushed under the covers again?
Her eyes are warm and wet, glistening, and he sighs with the grace of the unknown passing through a door of the darkest shade of yellow there is.
But what of his dreams, his philosophies? What of his passions?
Her heartbeat fills his own, controls it. What more can he do to be himself apart from her?
He can push for his own time, elbow his way into the spotlight.
Or he can let her take control.