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Nov. 17th, 2005 10:44 pmSome nights, I just watch you sleep.
A lot of nights. I used to be able to sleep anywhere, any time. Maybe I was just lulled by the sound of the Bebop's engines out there in deep space; it's kind of a seductive sound, a low distant roar, a buzz, a hum. Background sound, white noise, we get used to it. You would too if you were there long enough.
I don't really give a shit that I don't sleep anywhere any time any more. More time to watch you, to look out for you, to watch over you, to look at you. To hold you, to trace the shape of your face while you're sleeping, an inch away from you, to be that close and to do it without waking you.
I rarely leave your side at night. Sometimes I look up at the stars you painted on my ceiling and lie there in the dark, grinning like a goddamn fool, pleased as hell. You've given me gifts, unbidden, and I'm not the kind of guy who ever inspired gifts before. Maybe when I was little -- 4 or 5 -- but not since. Not really. My mother gave me things to appease me and my father took them away to punish me.
I don't like thinking about my family. I'd rather think about you. I'd rather think about the way you looked in that turquoise-blue water with the sun shining down mellow and hot, dolphins in the background, a gentle breeze blowing, a few clouds overhead, sand beneath our feet. I'd rather think about playing with you in the water, and on the sand, and in the hammock. I'd rather think about the best damn martini on Earth. I'd rather think about the way Doohan approved of you and he did: he didn't kick you out; he didn't ask you to explain yourself; he didn't quiz you on piloting. He knew better.
Knows better.
I'd rather think about all that, and about how, like I said, anywhere at all in the universe is good so long as you're there with me.
Because with you by my side, Beth, I feel like nothing could ever be wrong with the world. I know that's not true and it's a hell of a romantic notion, but it's how I feel.
A lot of nights. I used to be able to sleep anywhere, any time. Maybe I was just lulled by the sound of the Bebop's engines out there in deep space; it's kind of a seductive sound, a low distant roar, a buzz, a hum. Background sound, white noise, we get used to it. You would too if you were there long enough.
I don't really give a shit that I don't sleep anywhere any time any more. More time to watch you, to look out for you, to watch over you, to look at you. To hold you, to trace the shape of your face while you're sleeping, an inch away from you, to be that close and to do it without waking you.
I rarely leave your side at night. Sometimes I look up at the stars you painted on my ceiling and lie there in the dark, grinning like a goddamn fool, pleased as hell. You've given me gifts, unbidden, and I'm not the kind of guy who ever inspired gifts before. Maybe when I was little -- 4 or 5 -- but not since. Not really. My mother gave me things to appease me and my father took them away to punish me.
I don't like thinking about my family. I'd rather think about you. I'd rather think about the way you looked in that turquoise-blue water with the sun shining down mellow and hot, dolphins in the background, a gentle breeze blowing, a few clouds overhead, sand beneath our feet. I'd rather think about playing with you in the water, and on the sand, and in the hammock. I'd rather think about the best damn martini on Earth. I'd rather think about the way Doohan approved of you and he did: he didn't kick you out; he didn't ask you to explain yourself; he didn't quiz you on piloting. He knew better.
Knows better.
I'd rather think about all that, and about how, like I said, anywhere at all in the universe is good so long as you're there with me.
Because with you by my side, Beth, I feel like nothing could ever be wrong with the world. I know that's not true and it's a hell of a romantic notion, but it's how I feel.
