Here we are, swaddled in our old maroon sleeping bags and pushed so close together. Alone in the grass in my back yard. We could easily sleep inside on the bed my Mom made up for you and me but it is much nicer here outside, with the falling stars and calming chirping of crickets. It smells like oranges out here and it’s so strong it almost hurts my nose. The grass is soft beneath us and I feel content in my warm cocoon, next to you. You’re only here for a week and I can’t stop soaking in every part of you. I stare at you in the darkness and try to memorize the curvature of your jaw and the slope of your nose. You ask me why I am staring and I say I am trying to capture this memory. You smile at me and kiss my forehead. You tell me I don’t need to focus so hard on remembering everything, that we will have countless more nights like this. I ask you when we will be able to be together. You say there are only three months to go and that we’ll be together forever after that. I snuggle even closer to you and put my head on your warm chest. You ask if I want a bedtime story and I nod my head. As you tell your story you stroke my hair and I fight to stay awake. I couldn’t sleep last night, thinking about being with you, and now that you’re here I don’t want to waste any time unconscious. Somehow you can sense that I am still awake and say sleep, beautiful, I’ll still be here in the morning.
spring nights and star lights