She wakes in the morning, always 10 minutes after me. 10 minutes is more than enough time to watch the rhythm of her chest. The soft hum that follows. The light barely makes it through the curtain to give her face shape. I trace each curve with my eyes so as not to wake her. Her hair, a mess that I know she would hate. I admire every tangle before she has a chance to ruin this version of herself. It’s the small features on her face that always draws my eyes back and keeps my stare. Before I know it, her eyes twitch as she awakens. 10 minutes is not nearly enough time as I had thought, but there is still the next day.
