He’s asleep next to me and I am wide awake. He drove all last night to get here. I will spend this night drinking in the way he feels in my arms…the texture of his chest under my left thumb, of his shoulder against my lips…the way he entwines his feet with mine…his steady breathing. Every moment I will store away for when he’s gone. I will ignore the numbness of the arm he uses as a pillow—this discomfort is temporary and it would hurt more to think I might wake him if I move. I don’t believe ‘forever’ is something that makes sense, in human terms, but that’s how long this night feels as I lie here wrapped around him, and for that I am grateful.