Perfect Mornings

I woke up to your perfect morning.

You crept out first. Your long body strolled – as you do – to the jacuzzi. Your large hands opened the faucet, adjusting the temperature as the tub filled up.

In that moment, I stirred. And you turned around in time to glimpse my eyes opening. I shifted in the white cotton sheets, my hair just as tousled as the blankets.

When I sat up and saw you through sleepy, waking eyes, you stopped and stared. The sheets had fallen past my shoulders, just barely exposing the curves of my breasts.

Your jaw relaxed into a contented smile that matched my own.

It wasn’t up to you to make me feel beautiful. That’s my job.

But you managed to, anyway.

Published by WritesofPassage

Welcome to my blog about travel and humanity, where the two join hands to send a message: that we all want to say the same thing. The purpose of this blog is twofold: to give a crazy mind a canvas, and to touch somebody's truth.

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