We share a life now. You and I. And like the patchwork quilt that cloaks our sleep, we tug at it, this way and that. You’ve always called me “the blanket thief.”
We share bottles of wine, holidays and secrets. You give me your name and I clear space on my bookshelves. Your library mingles with mine.
We divide the pain and joy of our worlds. You carry me. And sometimes, I carry you.
Tonight, I breathe you in as you lie asleep beside me. My head folds into your shoulder. A jigsaw complete. And you share my insomnia, unknowingly.