Comfortable

I tend to think in pictures. And there are certain pictures that are constantly in my head. That I tend to hold on to, that I wish I could translate to reality. They are extremely cliched, but for me they are important. It's a paradox, seeing as how I hate being cliched, but hey, sometimes it's allowed.

A sheet under a tree on a breezy evening. Me, leaning against said tree, reading. Or proofing/editing what could possibly be the next big bestseller. You lying with your head on my lap. Dozing or reading or listening to music. Or even just daydreaming.

A comfortable four-poster bed. With a massive and extremely soft blanket. Us cozy under said blanket, watching something on a laptop or on the BIG TV.

You are lounging on a sofa. Channel surfing. And I am on the floor, resting against the sofa, reading or working. Your hand is lazily playing with my hair.

The one thing common in all these things is how comfortable it all is. Feels as natural as breathing. It's just the presence of you that is important. What you are doing is irrelevant. It's familiar, it's warm, it's a feeling of home.

Because being with you, is like being home.