We would wake up somewhere where neither of us lived. A quiet hotel room in a city we had spent the previous day exploring. Your shoes near the door. My phone is charging on the wrong side of the bed. The curtains were not quite closed enough to keep the morning out.

For a little while, neither of us would reach for the time.

You would still be warm beside me, your hair tangled, your face softer before the day had asked anything of you.

I would kiss your shoulder.

You would take a deep breath and slowly let it out.

There would be coffee downstairs eventually. Maybe breakfast somewhere we had noticed the night before. You would take longer getting ready than you promised, while I played music and pretended I wasn’t watching you move around the room.

Nothing about this morning would feel strange or out of place. It would just be one morning in a place far from everything complicated.

A few quiet minutes beneath unfamiliar sheets. Your hand resting on my chest. My fingers move slowly through your hair.

No plans beyond breakfast. No questions about what happened after the trip. Just the rare, simple pleasure of opening my eyes and realizing you were still there.

And saying, softly, before either of us had to become sensible again:

“Good morning, love.”

The B Side Soundtrack

A little music for the moment.