Sleeping Lovers

The pre-morning air radiated springtime renewal. Birds barely sang, instead tending to their downy feathers and flitting after one another. If one cared to venture out into the minty dawn they would see clouds become of their breath and a sense of rejuvenation and youth would empower them. The pale sun was rising in the east over the treetops. Gradually the world was waking up.

This was not so with everyone.

The house looked modest, old stone lining the bottom four feet of the walls. In the middle of acres and acres of woods, the house constantly seemed out of place. It was a man’s house and home, but if you cared to peer in closer you’d see a woman’s grace- the subtly placed pathway, the wild rose trained up one side.

Inside the home, in a room with a window facing east, lovers lay together. The man’s face looked a great deal younger in his sleep and the dawn light, and quite at peace- blissful even. A swath of pale tousled hair clouded his closed eyes and his lips were stained from adventures in the forest berry patches. An almost unreadable smile poised itself at the corners of his stained lips, quite due to the woman beside him. His even breathing could calm the most anxious of minds, including his own. Nothing could bother him at this moment. The sheets were pulled up above his waist, his upper chest draped by a slender arm.

She moved slightly, arm holding her lover closer without force. Her hair made fiery tendrils, a mane around her soft featured face. Full lips perfectly relaxed, she breathed deeply and rolled to one side to face the new morning. Those lips, lips stained from berries, smiled ever so softly. Blissfully unaware to the growing wakefulness in their world, she felt the touch of him moving closer to exclude the cold air between them.

Birdsong finally rose into the sky, sounding the arrival of morning. ‘The day is starting, it’s time to get up’- the bird’s message was clear. Still, nobody woke.

There was something of beauty in the sleeping lovers. Bare to the physical and mental din of society, of comparing, of conforming, it left them. Just them. It left only human beauty and raw adoration. Without the frenzy of passion or the intensity of lust, it left a purer form of love. They weren’t pretending or even thinking about what they were doing. Without conscious thought they still had an unending love and need for each other- the beauty of sleeping lovers.

Without thinking the man instinctually leaned in and kissed her cheek softly as they both lay half asleep. When she’d wake up she’d recall how her heart flutters every time she sees him as if it were the first sight. He’d not remember his dream when we awoke but he’d swear his reality was better no matter what. It was the subconscious dance that happened when they slept.

She stirred softly and opened her eyes to see to illuminated window, breathing in crisp air and relishing the tingle and chilling nip in the room. The light entered the room in shafts, lighting up the sheets and the color on the walls. His arms enveloped her in embrace, holding her close as he slowly left his dream behind.

Something was acknowledged between the two in quiet realization. Affection was evident, but they both knew to see love the other would have to be sleeping. That didn’t matter to them because they planned on showing it whether or not they slept.

And so with this knowledge in mind, he said all he needed to convey his adoration and articulate his lover’s beauty.

“Good morning love…”