pillow talk

I lie in bed before sleep claims me. Nick is awake enough to murmur when I slip my arm around his waist, nestling my head into his back, tucking my knees into his crooked legs. His warmth seeps into me as I hold him to myself. And even as a million thoughts race past the window of my mind's eye sleep loosens my muscles, relaxing.

In the morning, when Nick's alarm sounds and I turn onto my side, facing away from him, it is I who tries to sleep while he is awake. No murmurs from me when he reaches out, instead grunts of unwillingness on most days. And when I speak, telling him to get up that I'll come in a moment he leaves his still warm pillow on his side of the bed. I flip over onto my belly, quick-like, and shove it under my head and chest hugging it under myself. Drifting.