Waking up next to you is scary.

And before your vehement self-loathing causes you to interpret this as an insult; I'll explain what I mean as best as I can.

I'm scared because I always wake up before you; and I know that all I'll want to do is watch you.
That's dangerous because it only makes me love you more.
The way you heavily breathe through your mouth as a result of a congested nose, the way the relaxing and contracting of your intercostal muscles cause your small body to bounce up and down in a perfectly rythmatic manner. The way your heartbeat fills the entire room. So much so that I have to susurrate the bed sheets to mask the sound so my unforgetting heart doesn't fall any deeper into the enigma that is you.

Then you wake up.

You look at me with disoriented green eyes and matted brown hair and smile. You smile at me exactly the same way I've been smiling at you for the past ten minutes.

It's scary

Because by that point the clamorous sound of your heart beat is quickly replaced by mine. Sometimes I'm scared that you'll hear it. And you'll know.