I am in bed with my lover, the windows open to allow the soft breath of summer into the room, playing over our skin with the lightest caress, the twilight and shadows of the evening dancing across our bodies in silent brushes. The moon above is our only witness and spectator, watching us as we lay in contented quiet, our eyelids sleepily drooping, our lips gently curved into serene smiles, as our mutual breathing slows to an even pace and we drift into sleep’s downy embrace. The sheets, warm cotton, are draped across our unified form, a tangle of limbs and fabric. My head in on his chest, and I can hear his heartbeat, feel it flutter across my cheek. I have woven my fingers through the fine hair the lays across the nape of his neck, and his arms have twined themselves around my waist, his fingers gently kneading the small of my back as he lays one cheek against my tousled ringlets. We have known each other for some time now, grown comfortable with one another and in our relationship, and yet it seems that every day, every night, there is something new to discover and learn, facets of ourselves and one another we have not yet explored, journeys together we have not yet taken. We are young, sometimes reckless in our inexperience, and a fresh sense of adventure marks us. Here in the dark night, we are free to expose, to discover, to feel vulnerable and protected all in one breath, secure with each other. There is excitement with each new revelation, the quiet angst that fears rejection, that wonders in silent modesty at acceptance and true adoration. Adoration and acceptance… There are no rebukes or rebuffs here, only security, a quiet haven of retreat and truth, of passion, lust, and love all rolled into one magnificent time and place. We know we are dear to one another, he and I, it is knowledge we confidently carry in our hearts every day, but rarer and rare are these moments of soft indulgence we share, as our busy lives swirl and the world turns ever onward around us. Yet when these moments do arise, they are true magic, for they are the times of greatest truth and love, when I have never felt more caring, nor more cherished than when I am in his arms and his steady breathing, the rhythmic thu-thump of his heart, is the lullaby that leads me into slumber… This is love. The gentle, subtly ardent embrace I am aware of, a knowing tightening of his arms and a contented sigh that ruffles the tendrils of my hair, the lightest, most feather-like of strokes that flickers along my throat as he kisses me goodnight, and tells me, not for the first time and not for the last, the words that make my heart leap like the first time, every time, the words I could hear him whisper forever: I love you. And even greater than all these things is being able to echo his words back to him with honest fervor, my voice never quivering or stumbling, to return the sentiment in full kind.