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The room is quiet. I hear only John's breath. I see his chest rise and fall steadily. It’s so soothing. I watch his sleepy face in the shadowy light, endlessly, and though I know it by heart it's not boring at all. If I close my eyes I still see it.
I observe the way his eyelids and his lips sometimes quiver. Maybe he's dreaming. Happy dreams, I hope. He has no nightmares when I'm with him. Two nights ago his eyes suddenly opened, he stared at me and I stopped breathing. After a few seconds he gave me a slight smile and closed his eyes again. He hadn't really woken up.
He shifts a little in the bed and his hand settles next to my face. I fix my gaze on it, as if mesmerised. I come near, until my mouth brushes against it. I close my eyes. I can feel the warmth of his skin on my lips. Something breaks inside me. Oh God, this is enough.
I stand up slowly and, as I do every night, I smooth the blanket out to efface any trace. He wouldn't notice anyway. A last look and I leave John's room as silently as I came in, about an hour ago. I go back to my room.
I wonder what he would say if he knew. I wonder if, one day, he'll wake up and find me there, next to his bed, in my dressing gown, my legs tucked to the side, my head resting on my arms folded on the cover, watching, watching over him. I'm afraid he will.
I hope he will.