You wake up.

The full force of your hangover gradually makes itself known. Your head is swimming a little bit because you're still a little drunk. The light streams in, you open your eyes and begin to orient yourself.

You can feel the sheets against your skin, your breasts. You're shirtless. Then you feel his heat against your back… his hand is on your hip, his face in your hair. You pull the comforter up a little bit in order to cover yourself better.

His bed is next to his window. You can tell by the light and the feeling in the room that it's beautiful outside. It's the beginning of March and random beautiful days have been popping up here and there. It's one of those.

The door is propped open. One of his roommates is playing some simple blues, just a man and his guitar. You remember seeing your man playing guitar for the first time last night… it turned you on, no lies. His fingers on the frets, plucking the strings, no pick.

You turn over. He's awake now too, rubs his eyes.

"I'm still tired."

You smile, and he grins a little and closes his eyes again. You huddle a little more under the covers but reach up a hand and begin to touch his face, his lips, his sideburns, the back of his hair. The blues float in through the open door, and you experience a completely perfect moment, a moment so round and without blemish in its entirety and its contentedness that you never want to leave it. You want to touch this man's face in this bed with no shirt on and a beautiful day outside forever.

The moment ends but lingers in the air and in the pit of your stomach for a long time after, warming you with its small little light and limitless perfection. You know that whatever deviations you may have taken from the life that has been set out before you, that long open road, that this moment has come to pass with you being in exactly the right place at the right time, and more importantly, with the right person.