Your own blankets become foreign, wrapped and tangled around someone else. It doesn't even look like your
living room anymore, because there's a body in it, throwing all your lines and angles
askew.
I've peeked around corners to see if they've shifted, if the turn to their side reveals an uncovered brow. To see someone's closed eyes is to see the most peaceful someone can be, how calm and quiet. The stillness below the chest makes me stare until I see the sheet rising again; I hold my breath until I can hear theirs.
Someone once told me I am beautiful when I am sleeping, that even I can know calm in sleep. Watching people sleep is calm too, because someone in the world is knowing a calm, even if it's not me.