On a quiet morning whilst you napped on a chair and I looked out of the window and wrote a poem, you made a cute snuffly sound that made me turn to look at you.
And there you were, looking warm and red-cheeked. Like how you always looked in the mornings, the same kind of soft that made my hands itch with wanting to touch you. Your eyelashes were fluttering against your face and I remembered how they always felt like baby moth wings when you kissed me.
As I looked at you, the sun reached through the window to touch your hair. You stretched and shifted and you were glowing. And I thought: 
“I would do anything for him”
“Damn, this kind of love is terrifying.”
And 
“how will I ever recover from this?”