Will it be all the nights of your bed empty when I couldn't sleep? Are you going to choose instead, the moment I put underwear on my head and asked in a horrible Russian accent, "Would you like some bread?" (--Look that wasn't entirely all my fault I... had a lot of coffee and had been awake two days in a row.)
I'd prefer-- the flash of my mouth at your belly, the way your cold feet shock me awake and the run-on-wheezing-snorts from you making me laugh so hard I cried.
Actually, I'd prefer every moment of every day I said I loved you in cups of morning coffee. Bacon and egg breakfasts. Hanging out of cars and making Wookie calls; the moment you taught me about Baba Yaga and I said you were the smartest man alive.
I'd prefer if you remembered me when I go, as the sun on your face in the morning after you get to sleep in. (because I know how work, life, goes for you. They never let you sleep in.) As the lips on your closed eyes, as the love that men and women fight and die for-- wrote legends, penned scripts and made movies about. That love, our love.