Fragment #23 - Night Sentinel

Tonight, for a change, I feel content, warm and happy. Next to me she is curled up sleeping quietly, peacefully, her dark hair spread out behind her on the pillow. My eyes trace the curve of her arm over the ripples and creases of the duvet. She sleeps with both hands before her face as if in some religious ecstasy, silently breathing out a prayer. She is lit with a halo from the street lamps that filter through the curtains, it gives her a golden radiance that soothes and aches my heart at the same time.
My thoughts wander to what happened, they wander on through the heat to the sleepy embrace, and how we held each other, basking in the comfortable afterglow. That's when I said it. I said: “I really like you.”
Not very romantic I know, but I won't say I love her, not yet. But I think it's possible that it may happen soon. When I said those four words she cuddled in closer to me, kissed my shoulder and said: “Thank you.”
I held on to her, laying awake watching her fall asleep. Now I watch over her in her slumber, not to make sure she doesn't disappear, But to make sure she rests, to make sure she's happy, to make sure she's safe. I never want to see her weep, I never want that brow to furrow and I never, never want to see her dreams prove false. Just two words: "Thank you."