Ghost wolves

A sliver of light slips through the curtain, dancing on Tatum’s smooth cheek. She must be used to the light in her face as she snores peacefully through what I would consider to be a distraction. I’ve seen Tatum sleep in the past, be it falling asleep during a movie or just being exhausted and passing out on the couch, and my sentiment on her sleeping has not changed. It’s not my favorite way to see her.

Not that she doesn’t look like an angel, she does. But there is no smile, no sassy lip twitch as she tries to put me in my place and fails. The most beautiful thing about Tatum is her expressive nature.

The way her emotions bleed from her eyes and pour from her lips. No, she may look perfect when she is sleeping, but when she is awake, she is less than perfect and I’d take that any day.

Muffled clanking floats under the door, and I rise in my sweatpants and shirt as I tiptoe across the room and ease the door open. The hallway is empty as I step out and peek into the kitchen to see