Waking Up

Your eyes’ half open gaze, your morning scent and groggy touch, the subtle vibrations in your waking speech opposes the dawn’s crisp breeze, warming me. Your survivalist nature wrestles for the blankets while you hold your ground and more of mine than I’d care to admit. The extraordinarily ordinary, well, maybe to some. All these things I’ve discovered all these things I’ve not spoken, are not things at all. They are a reason, a vitality to me. A purpose to laugh and to sing out of tune - out of key, to sigh and to breathe be it heavy or easily, to live and to love openly with wide eyes to see. All these things are not things at all. They are my vitality, my reason, my purpose to be.