He says he wonders what you look like in the morning and you chuckle. His words, though sent through a digital screen, course little cackles of electricity from your fingers, to the backs of your ears, and down your spine. You say you look horrible – dried up spit, messy hair, morning wood, 5 o’clock shadow.
You ask if that turns him off. How could I? It's all I can think of. He yearns for you more.
You think about what it would be like to be intimate with him. Your body tenses as you imagine your hands on his back, his fingers through your hair, your lips on his.
Kundera once said that love is not found in holding hands, in kissing, or even fucking. It is in the desire for shared sleep. Beyond the need to touch and release, you too wonder what it would be like to wake up next to him. You imagine the sunlight dancing across his young skin, his disheveled hair in the early morning, his voice as he wishes you the first good morning of many mornings to come. Beyond his body, it’s these pictures, these future memories you’ve borrowed that send you over the edge.
I awake to find you glowing at your phone. I mumble incoherently, sleep clouding my speech and better judgement. You say it’s nothing, honey. Go back to sleep. That day, I learned the difference between faithful and loyal. Why couldn’t I find a man who could give me both?
♫: Sam Smith | Leave Your Lover (2014)