I woke up this morning to the heat of your body and the pounding of the rain.

The blanket was heavy and I found that I had been rolled partially under the Christmas tree and into the piano bench. Your hair was a mess and you smelled amazing and I tucked myself into the back of your neck and listened to you breathe until I dozed off again. I kept myself from touching you more than absolutely necessary and let the blanket fall between us.

The second time I woke up, it was because you rolled over and stretched out on top of my head.

I laughed and sat halfway up and watched you for a while. This time, I noticed your always-long eyelashes and the sprinkles of freckles that had been dotted up your cheekbones and to your temples. Your were my breath of summer as the December rain came down harder and harder and I spent some time selfishly soaking in your sunlight. The moment passed as my shoulder began to ache and I manhandled you into a better position for sleeping on the floor before settling into you and reflecting the warmth back to you like the down comforter that swamped us.

The third time I woke up, it was because my cat was rattling around like a bird in a box in the window blinds.

I tried to shush her, but you were already half-awake and instead lifted the blanket and invited her under. (She’s a shy cat, you know. And really likes you. Makes me confident that even though we didn’t last, I still picked a good one.) I stopped wussing out and finally touched you without restraint. You dozed off once more and I brushed my lips against the freckles just below your temple and traced my fingers up and down your stomach and held you close to me in the early, grey, winter light.

It was the best morning I’d had in a very, very long time.