The Blanket’s Cadence

The blanket’s cadence.

I feel it with my palm, rising and falling, like an entire life engulfed in every breath. Her chest heaves; I am so glad.

Have I ever been terrified of the thought that one day, I’ll put my hand on this very blanket and it won’t move? Isn’t that the fear which wakes me up every night just to feel her presence again beside me?

Her breath, a beacon beckoning me to live on with her; a hope of a garden in this barren world; the slight blueish hue of the sky through a small crevice within the clouds of a thunderstorm; a motion of the Gods.

I see her small face. I could cup it in my hands and just gaze at it till the end of the times.

Open mouthed but the nose breathes. Closed eyelids but with colours flowing underneath them. Smooth cheek and chin, flawless. She is serenity redefined.

I’m happy I haven’t disturbed her sleep. Once I had. I had cried then, while apologizing through my sobs for waking her up at three. She had hugged me to calm my turmoil and we had slept like that.

But not today.

I get off the bed and quietly, make my way towards the bathroom.

The flush will make a sound, I know. I just hope it won't be enough to wake her up.

Of course, my dog, Timothy, wakes up. I pet him slightly on his head and take light steps further.

Once inside, I sit down and pee.

How much has she affected me? A small voice asks. And without even trying?

When did I start sitting down for peeing? Was it back when I saw her sit and pee? Or was it when I accidently peed on the side and in the hubbub, forgot to clean, much to my embarrassment? I think the former. Being with her has always been... enlightening.

But not just enlightening, right? The voice asks again as I close the lid and flush while wondering if you can ever stop yourself from questioning yourself.

Anyway, the voice is right. Not just enlightening.

Once we planned to list fifty qualities we loved about the other. The list was never completed, predominantly because we forgot about it, but I did, quite successfully, form a part of the list in my mind.

She's a friend, a teacher, a lover, a confidant, a guide... does the list become redundant with more and more points? And so, I moved to something else.

I like her smile, her cheeks and chin, her small eyes and ears, her hands and feet, her back expecially when it curves away from me, her elbow which is so clean that I envy it, her neck and also, I admit, her vagina. I love the way she dresses and the casual way she undresses...

I stopped making the list there when the voice asked whether I should be disgusted with myself for having fallen to my carnal desires.

She once said I shouldn't. I think she's right. But the voice asks nevertheless.

"She's gorgeous!" The voice whispers. I'm standing by the bed now. Timothy has gone to sleep again. "She's so cute, you'd want to chew her up. Even Timothy thinks that."

But what is it? Is "Love" more sexual than I imagine it to be? Do I love her?

I don't know.

What I do know is that she's the one who matters the most in this world. And so, I feel the blanket's cadence again and fall asleep.