Sunlight spills
through half-closed blinds,
painting gold
across your sleeping face.
The room still smells
of chamomile and rain,
of quiet kisses
and whispered promises
we didn’t have to say aloud.
You stir,
eyes fluttering open
to find me watching
not with hunger,
but with something softer,
like awe.
I trace the curve
of your cheek,
memorizing the way
light and shadow
play on skin
that’s still warm
from last night’s breath.
The world is slow here,
between sheets and sunbeams
a gentle dawn
we made for ourselves,
without rushing.
I reach for your hand,
fingers threading,
and I wonder
how the night turned
into this morning,
how the quiet
became our favorite song.
And somewhere in the hush
between your sigh
and my smile,
I swear
I taste the promise
of every day
I want to wake up to.
©®Madhumita
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