I watch you sleep, still, just like I used to. I can’t help it. I know you hate that, hated that. I reckon you don’t realize I still do it.
The warm afternoon sun lulled you, pulled your eyes closed, tugged you under. I watched you fight it and you fell asleep with your hand on your book. I missed seeing your vibrant eyes the moment they disappeared. The tension eased from your face, erasing years in its passing. You always looked so much older that you really are, your life’s wisdom, living, clear in your expression. Your respiration slowed until I knew you were deep asleep, lost in that lovely velvety darkness. I miss sleeping.
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