Penetrating

Fierce sunlight pours through the window of my bedroom; my eyes open, the first thing they see are her dark curls. My arm wrapped around her waist, her body pressed to mine in the confines of my single bed, her mascara-stained face burrowed in her hands. I check the time on my phone: 13:04. I think of last night - we arrived at my house late evening, watched 'Glee', conscious that it had been too long since I last heard her sweet cackle of a laugh. Once that attempt failed miserably, I gave in to the inevitable, pushed The Notebook into the DVD player and sat beside her, tissues at the ready as we watched a love story unfold, both well aware that the scene in which James Garner breaks down, was just around the corner. I unfurl my left arm from underneath me and stroke her soft hair rhythmically yet softly enough not to wake her, before falling back to sleep beside her; my warm breath penetrating her bed-head barnet, strands flailing in the breeze. And we sleep the summer afternoon away, me dreaming of her, her of him.