Meanwhile in my head, I'm undergoing open-heart surgery. - Anne Sexton.
333"He had always woken first; he had trained himself to wake first, so that he could have the first moment of the day looking at her as she slept. He liked to draw his hand out from under the warm sheet, and into the cold air of the bedroom. Then he would hover his hand over the outline of her face, never touching her, but sensing with wonder, always with wonder, how his hand in the cold air could feel the warmth coming off her face. Sometimes she opened her mouth to breathe, and he felt the breath of her on him, the way Adam must have felt God breathing first life into his sleeping body. But she was the one who slept. In the little death, he bent to kiss her and wake her, waking her with a kiss, so that her eyes opened sleepily, and she smiled at him. She always smiled at him. He loved that. And then he would take her in his arms, burying his face in her neck, and try to identify all the different smells of her. She was clean but she smelled of herself, something like new hay with the flowers still in it […]" - Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping