Blinking heavily, my eyelids drooping,
I throw myself off the lazy-boy.

Smiling drowsily, cracking your back,
you peek at me from under the blanket we share.

Chuckling nervously, switching off the hall lights,
we sleepily crawl back to my room.

Pulling the curtains back,
I laugh like a mad woman.

Peering outside, squinting at the soft, fluffy clouds,
you laugh too.

Glowing pumpkin-orange,
the shy sun slides up into the warm sky.

Flying around, outside in the hot, wet air, 
the birdies croon their sweet melodies.

Changing into a gigantic blue T-shirt and your signature whale-printed pants,
you yawn like a baby cat that’s ready for a nap.

Crawling into bed, dragging the soft blankets onto my shoulders,
I study the clock.
6:04 AM

Peeling your glasses off your nose, weakly setting them on the bedside table,
“We’re so dumb.”

Slipping my hair back into a cotton scrunchie, not even bothering to brush it,
“We’ll be dead in the morning.”

Hazily ambling down our soft, carpeted staircase,
Mom leads the dogs through the kitchen door, into the soaking grass.

Tossing one of your pillows out the window, too tired to care about the consequences,
“Why did we do this again?”

Reliving that tear-inducing finale,
“Season three had to be finished, of course!”

Beaming at me in the almost-darkness, 
“So worth it.”

I slip on a sleeping mask,
you roll over on your side.

“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”

Then,
quiet.

The calm we know now
is unlike any other.
The silence
is almost visible.

We’re waiting for the world
to start its engines.
For the buzz
to die down.
The world is waiting for us
to stop ours.

Tomorrow is already here,
but we don’t know it  yet.
We find peace in that
and swim into sleep.