Being here

I can't see him but his breathing changes, and I know he has fallen asleep. The film is still playing, his arms still around me.

When it ends I lie there and listen to him breathe. I know that if I move he will wake. I know I will have to move soon, but for now I let him sleep. And I listen. To him, to the soft bubbling of the gas heater, to the buffeting wind outside.

In his dreams he murmurs something. I murmur back - no words, just sound. Whatever the words for I'm here were before there were words.

The heater bubbles on.

I'm not thinking anything. I'm just here.