Texts to Send Him When You Wake Up Next to Him

Your arm is still under my neck, and I don't want to move because this is the safest I've ever felt.

I can hear your breathing slow down again after you shifted. I'm counting the seconds between breaths like a lullaby.

The sun is barely up and your hand is already tracing lazy circles on my back. Don't stop.

I woke up and your face was buried in my hair. I stayed perfectly still so you wouldn't wake.

Your leg is hooked over mine and I can feel your heartbeat through your chest. I never want this moment to end.

I just watched you smile in your sleep. Whatever dream you're having, I hope I'm in it.

The blanket is tangled around us and your hair is in my mouth, but I wouldn't trade this messy tangle for anything.

I was half-asleep and you pulled me closer without opening your eyes. That tiny gesture said everything.

The morning light is hitting the little scar on your eyebrow, and I'm tracing it with my eyes.

You're breathing so softly, I can tell you're in the part of your dream where you're running.

Your hand is curled near your face like when you're concentrating on a crossword puzzle.

The way your jaw is relaxed makes you look younger, like the photo of you at sixteen in your mom's kitchen.

You just smiled in your sleep—maybe you're dreaming about that terrible joke you told last night.

Your hair is tousled perfectly, like you're art even when you're not trying.

The little furrow between your brows is there—I hope your dream isn't about work.

You're lying on your stomach, one arm dangling off the bed, and it's the most peaceful thing I've ever seen.

You're still in that 'I'm pretending to be asleep so I can steal more cuddles' phase, aren't you?

I know you're awake because your breathing changed. Also, you just smiled.

Is it possible to be this cozy and also starving? Because I'm not moving, but I'm also planning our breakfast heist.

You have pillow creases on your cheek and I'm obsessed.

I'm timing how long it takes you to crack an eye open. Current record: 12 minutes.

Your hair looks like you lost a fight with a pillow. It's adorable.

I was going to get up and make coffee, but then you made that little grumpy noise and now I'm trapped.

You're doing that thing where you inch closer every few minutes like I won't notice. I notice. I love it.

Waking up next to you feels like finding the last warm spot on the couch—simple and mine.

Your arm is still draped over my waist, and I'm just lying here counting your breaths.

I don't need a morning alarm when I have your warmth beside me—and your elbow in my ribs.

The way the light hits the scar on your eyebrow right now makes me want to trace it with my finger.

I'm watching you sleep and feeling so lucky that I get to be the one who sees you like this.

Your hand is resting on my hip, and I can feel your pulse through your fingertips.

I woke up a few minutes ago and just listened to you breathe. That's my favorite way to start the day.

Having you here, tangled up in the sheets with me, is the only thing I ever want to wake up to.

Your breathing is so steady, I'm trying to match it without waking you.

I'm counting the freckles on your shoulder in this half-light—I'm up to seven before you stirred.

Your hand is warm on my hip, and I'm remembering how it felt the first time you touched me there.

I just felt you smile in your sleep, and now I'm smiling too.

The way your hair falls across your forehead makes me want to brush it back, but I don't dare move because you finally settled after a restless night.

You mumbled something about a cat and then pulled me closer. I'm not moving for anything.

I can hear your heartbeat when I rest my head on your chest. It's my favorite sound right now.

Your lips are slightly parted, and I'm resisting the urge to kiss you until you wake up.

I'm watching the sunlight creep across the pillow, and I hope it reaches your face before I have to get up.

Your hand is still on my hip, and I can feel the callus on your thumb from that guitar string you broke last week.

I felt you stir and held my breath, hoping you'd pull me closer. You did.

The sun is hitting that one freckle on your shoulder, and I'm trying not to wake you by tracing it with my finger.

You just mumbled something about pancakes in your sleep, and now I'm hungry and smiling.

I've been awake for ten minutes, listening to the little hitch in your breath when you dream, and I'm already dreading the alarm.

Your hair is sticking up on one side like it did that morning we camped in the rain, and I want to remember this exact moment forever.

I reached for you before I even opened my eyes. You were already there.

You shifted and your cold foot pressed against my calf, and I flinched but then smiled because it means you're still here.

I don't want to move yet. The cat is purring at our feet, and I can hear the neighbor's sprinklers start up.