6 a.m. is my favorite.
I set my alarm just a little earlier than necessary. I run out of bed to grab my phone as I hear sleepy mumbling Where are you going? Come back. I dart back in bed and nestle my chin in my favorite spot in the world, the crevice between his two shoulder blades. I slip my arm under his, putting my hand on his chest above his heart. My world is beating underneath my palm. I breathe in his scent and let his short hair tickle my nose, which always makes me smile. I love you, I whisper. He loves me too, at 6 a.m.
This man. This brilliant, beautiful, strong, courageous man that I am madly in love with is all mine, at 6 a.m.
Before I have to share him with the rest of the world, before the weight rests on our shoulders, even before the sun is up… at 6 a.m.
This is how almost every day starts for me. It covers me like a shield though the second I leave his presence, it slowly melts away, after 6 a.m.
I’m not really okay. My life has been drastically changed in the past year. A lot of good changes, excellent in fact, but change none the less. Processes that it took to get me here. My career loss being such a blow that it is taking everything in me to hold my broken pieces together.
See, he is my glue. The very gravity that holds me on this planet. Without him, I’d float off in to darkness. I’ve managed to find happiness, within myself, somehow always. I didn’t need anyone emotionally. I was only half of a person and somehow, finding my other half has made me feel desperately incomplete when I’m not with him, whether it be physically or mentally.
Sometimes, I falter. I’m not perfect. I’m undeserving. I sometimes think I have some sort of dyslexia, a miscommunication from my heart to actions towards him. A voice inside me always screaming as I clumsily stumble through, making mistake after mistake.
I only hope that he sees. Words mean nothing, he says. My actions could never be big enough to show what he would see if only he could see my heart. Maybe one day, at 6 a.m., he’ll see.