Sleepless

You know how I have looked at you day-after-day for weeks now, how my eyes must take their tour around your face from your eyes to your mouth and chin and back to your eyes and then up and around the line of your forehead.

You know how much I have admired just that hint of silver starting there, and how disappointed I was when it went away. But that’s all right, I understand. And you did wait a while, just for me.

You know my eyes still make that journey, willingly.

*     *     *

I have been waking up at 3 a.m. since early in December, and yes, you are the reason, although I haven’t told you so. But I will.

I don’t know what turns my dreams your way in these early morning hours, nor why my first thoughts on waking are of you, but I do not question it. I know only that it happens, and that I accept it. Gladly.

I hope that I am not the cause of your sleepless evenings, but if in fact I am, then surely it is good for your heart, and for mine.

On the other hand, I trust that your soul will not suffer because of me.

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