Her Sleep

She often had a hard time sleeping. It was impossible to get comfortable with so many variables awake and demanding her attention. Like getting into a bath that was too hot or too cold, she could not yet enter and chose to wait till all was just right to slip in. She would take three tiny pink baby aspirins that she kept by her bedside to help calm her restless legs. The pillows had to be just right, in the right order, smoothed, with no waves. No arms exposed to cool night air, she'd adjust and readjust     her nightgown. Over the years she had given in to eccentric sleep.
But, when he was there, sleeping besides her, all the way on the other side of the giant bed, she spent hours being absolutely still in the inky darkness for fear of waking him. She would listen to all of his nocturnal noises with love in her heart for him. She was happy that he slept, that he breathed, that he was there next to her. He most often slept face down like he was flying downward, back to earth from some place far up in the sky. Although she knew she could not sleep this way, she sometimes, in the early years, held his hand as he slept. She never got much sleep when he stayed but she always wanted him to stay. It was a true metaphor for their time together.