( my brachiosaurus hand likes your stegosaurus hand )
Last night I woke quite suddenly from dreaming because our breathing was in rhythm with each other. I laid there for a second, wondering if my awarness of it would make it stop. But there it was, perfect: his back expanding against my chest. Breathe in, breathe out.
“Jei,” I said, “Jei, wake up.”
“Ugh…wg..?”
“We are in sync with each other while we’re sleeping .”
Poor boy was trying to sleep, “I don’t understand?”
“Our breathing matches.”
“But doesn’t it always?”
Posted in musings |
That is the cutest fucking picture ever.