I Love Mornings

In the morning I felt breath on me. I was barely awake. Every night of sleep had been a small battle, every morning a hangover. I was under stress from all directions. I was unsure of myself, jet lagged, emotionally fatigued. The sun coming through the blinds was an imposition, some form of disrespect. An invader.

Breath on my face, a hand on my belly. We had been sharing a bed all week, which was rare for us. We lived across the country from one another. Our entire relationship was in phone calls and facetimes and texts and memes and DM’s and likes, and in the immense amount of space we had taken up in each other’s…