She gets out of bed in the morning, walking to the bathroom, that orange early morning sunlight seeping through the blinds. Her brown hair is down around her shoulders, and tousled from sleep, and also from not sleeping. 

It's her comfort evidenced by her nudity - she doesn’t attempt to cover up as she leaves the room, not even tugging on the blanket to take with her. While she'll complain later on about this and that in that dress or those jeans, when she's naked I just can't understand why she's ever insecure. This simple perfection - she’s got it nailed.

She catches me watching her, looks at me for a microsecond through the mirror. It’s at that moment, time slows down, and I get that panic feeling I get sometimes. Every guy worth his salt gets it at some point. It happens when you realize you’d give your life to make her happy. The one that reminds me she'd better not figure out that my confidence is all an act and really I'm just this terrified little boy deep down. If she figures that out, I'm scared she'll wonder what she's doing here, leaving me to fend for myself.

The Kindness of Strangers

If You Date A Writer