Asleep in my lap

He sleeps, his head resting in my lap, as I type this into my iPhone. I've run my fingers through his hair, massaged his scalp, caressed his face. A stressful day for him, and he's come to me for relief.

Before Lethe took him he said "I am glad you're here. I know I sometimes take you being here for granted. It's not because I don't care -- it's because it feels so right I don't notice anything wrong."

"I love you," I volunteered, squeezing him with my legs. It took him three years to get me to move down here, to leave my friends and lovers and come be with him. The novelty of my being here ebbs and flows. "Don't worry about this thing with me and my Beloved."

"I am worried about him," he said, his Canadian accent coming out in his pronunciation of worry. "You're even more special now than you were 10 years ago. What if he falls for you again?"

I snorted and half-laughed, thinking about all the things in the way of something like that happening. "That's unlikely."

He snuggled down into the pillow in my lap. "I sometimes don't notice that I am in love with you because I'm in it all the time."

And then, with his next breath, he was asleep.

Sweet. Direct. Vulnerable. Open. God I love this man!