I'd wake up before you-
(Because you'll never wake up before me.
And the day you do so,
the sun will be seen,
rising from the West, in the night sky.)
the morning sun peeking through the blinds,
casting soft light over the rumpled sheets.
You'd still be buried beneath the mess,
hair in a wild tangle,
half your face hidden by the pillow.
"Mornin'," I'd whisper, nudging you softly.
You'd groan,
turning over,
mumbling something unintelligible about
"five more minutes"
that I knew would turn into ten.

But I wouldn't let you go that easily.
Grabbing your arm,
I'd tickle you just enough to get a chuckle.
"You're already awake?"
you'd mutter,
peeking one eye open,
groggy,
but still managing to glare at me with one brow raised.
"Can't let you sleep through the day,"
I'd tease,
leaning in,
watching you pout,
the way you do when you're annoyed but not too annoyed.
"Why do I have to put up with you?"
you'd mumble,
trying to swat at my hand but failing.
"Because you love me,"
I'd grin,
and you'd grumble something about karma.

When you finally dragged yourself into the kitchen,
still half-asleep,
you'd shuffle along like a zombie,
mumbling about the chaos of mornings.
"Why is the floor always covered in socks?"
I'd ask, holding one up like evidence.
"You know it's your fault,"
you'd snap back,
half-yawning,
hair sticking up in all directions,
looking like you've been dragged through a tornado.
"Me? You're the one who insists on hiding under blankets
like the world is ending!"
I'd argue,
and before you could respond,
we'd already be in the middle of
Mini World War 3.0.

The coffee machine would beep,
and you'd hover over it like a hawk,
watching the process unfold with dramatic impatience.
"Finally," you'd grumble,
as if I was personally responsible for the slow drip.
"Come on, I'm making it your way,"
I'd say, handing you the cup,
extra sugar,
way too much milk-
just like you like it.
You'd take a sip,
eyes squinting at the too-sweet concoction.
"You're killing me here,"
you'd mumble,
but I'd catch the smallest smile.
"Better than yesterday?"
I'd ask, trying not to smirk too much.
"Barely,"
you'd grumble,
but still take another sip.

Later, as we argued over which movie to watch,
you'd roll your eyes at my choice.
"No,"
you'd say,
like you had the power
to veto the universe.
"Anything but that!"
I'd press,
and we'd dive into
one of our typical debates.
"Why do you always pick
the ones I hate?"
you'd groan,
half-pleading,
half-pouting like a child
who can't get their way.
"Because I know you secretly like them,"
I'd say, grinning,
knowing full well you'd deny it with your life.
"Nope. No way. Not happening,"
you'd cross your arms,
giving me your 'you-can't-win' look.
"I'll just wait here then,
alone, while you sulk,"
I'd taunt,
watching you glare at me like I've committed a crime.
That glare would eventually soften,
because, deep down,
you know you're secretly curious.
"Fine. Just one hour,"
you'd sigh,
and I'd hold back a stupid smile.

When the movie's finally over,
and we've both ended up laughing
at how ridiculous it all was,
you'd lie next to me on the couch,
still sniffling from the laughter,
your head resting on my shoulder.
"You didn't tell me you were funny,"
you'd mutter,
but your voice is softer now,
and there's that hint of a smile
that always melts me.
"Only for you,"
I'd say,
pressing a kiss to your hair,
watching you shift closer.
"We've got too many of these goofy moments, huh?"
you'd ask, voice barely above a whisper.
"Yeah, but they're the good kind,"
I'd reply,
holding you tighter,
knowing these little debates,
these silly moments,
are the ones we'll remember, forever.

But when the day is done,
and the world feels quieter,
it's just us,
laying there in silence,
breathing each other in,
as if the noise of life
fades away.
Your fingers would trace circles
on my chest,
soft and gentle,
like they're trying to map out
every corner of my heart.
I'd watch you,
the way your eyes seem to hold
a universe of unspoken words.
And then,
in that quiet moment,
I'd reach out,
fingertips brushing against yours,
and I'd whisper,
"I've never needed anyone the way I need you."

And you'd glance up,
your gaze catching mine,
a soft smile playing at your lips.
"Good thing I feel the same,"
you'd murmur,
before settling closer,
our hearts beating in sync,
as if nothing else
in the world mattered.

Should I scream, laugh or blush?
What did I just write 😳?

Feel free to tell me how you felt
about this version.

Yours sincerely,
Mona26042009