Breathing in Rhythm

The night had resolved into the subtle sounds that only rise above the threshold of audible awareness when the insistent chatter of day has finally exhausted itself.

He lay in relaxed anticipation of the sleep that no longer held the heightened necessity it once demanded, lay beside her listening to the measured rhythm of her breathing.

It was melody and touch in its cadence, much like the gentle sound of unhurried oars caressing the waters of a summer lake, much like the breeze that shimmers late afternoon leaves into a hush and buzz.

It was melody and touch, much like waking in the dark from an extended sleep and knowing by its sound you are right in your placement in the universe, that all things are balanced.

It was melody and touch in its most natural essence.

It was melody and touch moving past the confines of time as if he had known her from the beginning, would hold her forever in this moment, the rhythm of her breathing drawing life in around them.