(no subject)

I like watching Beth sleep.

I like the fall of her hair on her face, and the soft sound of her breathing. Sometimes she curls into me like a little kid and holds on tight, more than she'd do if she was awake. At those times, it feels like such a damn honor to be sharing her bed. All that shit she went through in Cooksfield: she deserves to be held in the dark of night.

Everyone does. Everyone has skeletons in their proverbial closet.

Because my mind is a place that's never quiet, I find myself asking questions a lot. Not aloud, just to myself. Questions like Spike, why does she love you? What makes you so damn special? Truth is this: I don't really know why Beth loves me. I don't really know why anyone loves anyone else. I think putting reasons on it takes away some of its honesty and spontaneity, and I'm not sure it matters why so long as she does.

But I like watching her sleep. Makes me feel all damn, I did something right.

By the Lake

Friday, by the lake, the usual water bottles and pillows and jump ropes lie beneath the tree, but in sets of four now.

Just in case.

He's already dragged the tires out from their spot near the staff quarters and laid them out, and since he's first to arrive, he runs around the lake. It's hot, but it feels good.

He used to run all the time. Competitively, but not to the same level of competition as with Jeet Kune Do, and not for a really long time. Spike knows he was really good at it and still is; his long legs carry him on long strides and he makes good speed. For a time he watches his feet hitting the ground, step after step, but that doesn't hold his interest for very long. Soon, everything blurs into rainbows, into waves of color, waves of heat, waves of impact.

It's a good zone to be in. He's around the lake once, twice, three times before he even bothers to stop, stretch, have some water.

It feels good to move.