What the hell am I doing in my own bed?

There’s nothing like waking up in your lover’s bed. Having him be the last thing you see when you whisper, “Good night, I love you.” And then having the same person smiling at you be the first sight you open your eyes to the next day.

This morning was the most amazing, wonderful, happy experience I’ve had in years, bar none. I’ve never been so delighted to welcome a new day, and the words, “Good morning” have never rung so true.

The absolute trust, acceptance and just plain love that it took for my lover to ask me to spend the night at his home takes my breath away. The level of comfort we experience with each other is beyond anything I’ve known, even in previous relationships. Which probably explains why we overslept, and weren’t able to watch a Hitchcock movie in the wee small hours of the morning like I hoped we could. Or maybe it was just the sheer exhaustion of the night before taking its toll on us both.

But he did say, “Next time, we will.” Next time. Next time. Ahhhh. I never even dreamed we’d manage to spend the night together at all, let alone be promised a “next time”. I would’ve given that delightful prediction more thought, only he totally woke me up in the most amazing way, and coherent thought processes were put on hold for quite some time.

So now it feels strange to be getting ready to end this perfect day, feeling like there’s a part of me that’s missing. Like I left it there, in his bed. I’ll miss his strong arms holding me so close, his breathing, deep and regular and exhausted from loving, in my ear. We fit as though measured for each other, and I wish that I could feel the same gentle kiss on my brow when I shift in my sleep again tonight.

Damn. Withdrawal symptoms are the pits.

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