As I watch him sleep, I wonder about a variety of things.
I wonder if he dreams of days gone by…both good and bad. Does he dream of the day his son was born? Does he dream of his first win as a fighter? Of his first loss? He lies so still on the blood red pillow that I wonder if he dreams at all.
I wonder how he manages to be so still when he sleeps. I’m up no fewer than three times per night. A lot of nights I am awake for good by 3:00 AM. We have such a similar past. I wonder how he isn’t continually haunted. It appears he isn’t and for that I am relieved.
I wonder what it must have been like to watch him fight in the ring. It seems odd to me…hard to rectify, even, that a man so gentle with me could be as violent in the MMA ring that I’ve heard.
I wonder if he truly sees his own potential in this life. He has changed so much over the last few months. Such great accomplishments and he continuously strives for achievement. Yet, I wonder if he sees what I see in him. Does he see the man that cares for me? Does he see the man that doesn’t back down from hardship or a challenge? Does he see the beauty of his own mind and soul? Then again…do any of us fully comprehend our own beauty?
As I watch him sleep, I observe a number of things.
I observe his even breathing. We can cuddle together on the L-shaped couch and watch a movie. His even, deep breathing has been known to lull me to sleep. His breathing is so deep and steady. I often struggle at night to determine if he is asleep or awake. Soft snores rarely escape his lips.
I observe the way his chiseled cheekbones curve and mold into his round chin. I have never seen his jaws clench in his sleep.
I observe his tattoos. I’ve seen them hundreds if not thousands of times during our relationship. The one that has always been prominent to my eyes is the one on the inside of his elbow. The black frame around the stick figure on a cell phone…the top of the frame follows the crook of his left arm. I find that particular tattoo very appealing. On his left shoulder, I am drawn to the faded tattoo of what appears to me to be some sort of tribal marking. Looking at those tattoos never gets old. I find it to be a calming ritual. To see them reminds me that he is laying on his side facing me. If I need him, he is there.
I observe his hand upon his chest. When he lays on his back, his left hand is usually upon his chest. I consider his hands…the times they brushed away my tears, hugged me, and so often carry me to bed when I fall asleep in the living room. I drift away and remember the feel of his fingers tracing my spine.
I observe him as a man who sticks to particular rules of being a man. One rule is sleeping on the outside of the bed. I asked him why shortly after we first started spending the night together. He told me a story…that back in the day of plunder and loot, the men would sleep on the outside of the bed. The reasoning was to be able to more quickly stop an attack. Should someone come into the quarters, the man could jump out of bed and protect his family. I have never forgotten that story. We’ve tried switching sides of the bed. Even I am not comfortable.
I observe him as a devoted father who does not allow people to place limits on his son. He teaches his son by example to be the best at what he is capable of doing.
I observe him as my intended husband. I see him as an entire person. My caretaker. My love. My rock. My best friend.
– Faery Dae –