Sixty-three

I no longer fear the night, not while he sleeps right next to me. The bad dreams do return but not as frequent as before.

He sleeps soundly on his back, an arm lays on his stomach while the other almost brushes my face. At least is close enough, if moved a few inches forward his fingertips would brush my lips. He twitches and moves with the sounds of thunder in the distance. The one that woke me was pretty close. Long minutes after I lay awake, watching the flashes of light as the thunderstorm.

Raising to her elbows she reached forward to push a his hair back from his forehead, making him stir but not wake up. As another thunder sounded she almost jumped to snuggle closer to him but as always she was stopping herself from touching him. He was the one who’d initiate and the light touches were sorely for show and innocent, nothing like the images burned in her brain.

The kisses.

The lessons.

Still too vivid. The fee times she dare to touch that part of her that ached resembled noth