I often think about that time in the morning at your house.
I was awake, because I always woke up early, and once
I sat up, and left your arms to sit by the cold window,
you reached your arms out grabbing for me saying in a
very sweet, hushed, slumbered tone:
"Come back to bed, Ashy."
Once you heard me start to cry, your eyes shot open, and
you have never said you were sorry so many times in your life.