Don't want to go to bed. There's never anyone there. It's not what you might suspect that bothers me though.

It's the safety, the way that what you both understand goes unsaid precisely because you both understand it anyway. The way you feel you're protecting them yet at the same time stealing something private when you wake before they do and silently watch them sleep. And how when you open your eyes and turn to see them gazing at you, it feels as normal as anything you can think of in the world.

It's the way that minutes don't matter when you're trying to get up without waking them, slowly and quietly, using their breathing and motion to gauge when to stop still, and when to move carefully towards the edge, and then out. It's being gently corrected and reset in the dark when you shuffle onto your side or reclaim your arm from across their chest, and going with it because even when half asleep, you can feel yourself lazily smile at their touch.

Don't want to stay awake. There's too many people here.