She looked around the room, at the ceiling, the lamp, and wondered if the feeling she had at that moment would last. Would they make it and would she get to experience this love in another time and another place?
She’d forever remember the set up of the hotel room-the first they shared together. She’d remember the round table in the corner and the bouquet of iris’s he had delivered for her before they checked in, and the lamp-she’d remember the lamp and the way it cast a shadow on his half of the bed.
While he showered, she dreamed of a day she did not even know might exist-a day when they were married.
Would their room look like this, or would their furniture be more practical? Would they have a place to read, a place to reflect, and would they have a bathroom, so that she could fall asleep to the sound of the shower replenishing her lovers’ skin, like raindrops in the spring.
She thought of their unborn children, and whether or not he would let them cuddle in bed with them when they had a nightmare, there bodies curled softly in their safety, their sweet breath rising and falling to the beating of her heart.
She wondered if he’d lose his hair, or if by some miracle she would get to see him gray. Would he acquire laugh lines or liver spots, or both?
She wondered if, when she went blind, if he would read to her, and if he went deaf, if he would remember the sound of her voice.
And then she fell asleep alone in the bed-her only companion, the shadow from the lamp near the round table in the corner.
