soft voices surround me. eyelids heavy, body sluggish, brain still slow, unsure if this was a dream, i strain my ears. there is silence, with only the whirl of the heater somewhere to my right. my eyelids are coloured a light yellow, with patches of black flickering. dazed, i wonder if the balcony windows are open. that would be weird, because christmas is nearly here, isn't it? that means its snowing, and its cold, and stuff, and...? half awake, yet not really, i vaguely feel a sharp pain pressing against my ears. it is there until it suddenly isn't anymore, and i murmur a thanks in spite of my groggy self.
warm. warm. everything feels so warm and snuggly. its like i'm at home again, but better and cozier. “you're crushing your book under your own weight, idiot.” a voice, sounding far away. there is a chill in the morning air, but it somehow feels like spring inside here. my eyelids open just a crack. you're here lying beside me, my glasses looking amusedly out of place on your face. they reflect the winter sun, their soft rays rousing me from a good night's sleep.
“good morning,” you smile. your hand, big and warm, gives mine a firm squeeze. i wanted to give my usual reply, but today i just smile. some mornings are different. just some, but they're all worth it.
and i sure as hell hope you are, too.