I wake up, slowly, taking in the surroundings. The faint moonlight is lighting up my dark room, and my alarm clock reflects 4am in the morning. Shuffling around, I come inches from a face.
He’s snoring peacefully. The jet black hair which adorns his head is rumpled, sticking out in different angles and settles on his forehead, creating a fringe. His lips are slightly curved, in mirth, probably dreaming of something pleasant. The contours of his cheekbones are highlighted by the faint moonlight, and he looks so picturesque, like he’s been kissed by the beautiful night itself.
I wish, I could capture his beauty in a black and white frame, and hang it where only I can appreciate it. But, alas, I’m no painter. Maybe I could write songs about how his brown eyes dance and twinkle mischievously sometimes, but I’m sure I’d do them no justice. It’s angelic innocence, that’s how he looks at the moment.
But right now, I just try to take in his overwhelming scent surrounding me like my favorite blanket, and I want to bottle it up and keep it with me forever. His heavy arms feel like the home I’ve always craved for and I want it to be the only weight I ever feel on my body, and drown in them.
His eyes flutter open, immediately focusing on me. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t tease me for watching him sleep, doesn’t smile, just studies me like I was, a few seconds ago. I feel his arms tighten around me, pulling me closer to him like an anchor to a boat. Lips hovering over my forehead, he gives me the lightest of kisses and my eyes involuntarily shut.
Maybe, just maybe, I’m in love again.
— little love stories #1