I write this as she sleeps next to me, with me, but not with me, as a testament to the light she spreads across my pages, chest moving in and out, in and out, breathing kindness into these words with her own. The object of my attention, affection, she will rise tomorrow to the surprise of post-midnight poetry, hopefully bringing a smile to her face as she does mine, and our small habits across hundreds of miles unfold to become larger rituals, grander ceremonies, separated by mere inches.