Flash Fiction: "I'm Running In The Morning."

[wolven7]

He paused in his reading and looked over to her. She'd fallen asleep again, but he didn't have the heart to wake her. She'd asked for this poem, specifically, tonight; had said to him that it would help get her head right for tomorrow. He didn't question it, anymore, he just found the passages and read them to her. Because he wanted her to come back to him, wanted her to think of him as home and safe and stable and to be that he would read whatever words she needed, every night.

He liked that she slept hard, in his bed-- that as long as she fell asleep first she would stay asleep at least until he followed (he had a suspicion that she woke up as soon as he fell asleep, but he didn't have the nerve to ask her, to be sure). Her arm across his stomach, his behind her head: they would lay like that for hours, for days, in dreams.

He looked at her sleeping face and reached over to the bedside table next to her, letting his fingers touch what she always kept there. He repeated the line:

“'...cool and heft of it....'”
©Damien Williams. All Rights
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This one is from raoin's prompts.

A little ambiguous. A little not.

It's about time for bed, yes.