The sound of her sketching on her pad is like music.
I'm lying across the couch we are sharing with my legs over her thighs.
It's nice to just relax and listen to her work. It's comforting when she uses my legs as a makeshift table - a gentle pressure that let's me know she's still hard at work.
I love to sit here, with her legs draped over mine, listening to her breathe. It's serene. I could sit and sketch her forever. Every time I draw her it feels like I'm doing it for the first time. She thinks I'm working, and I was, until I noticed I hadn't caught her sleeping yet. Now was my chance. Her breathing has evened out and her face was expressionless, content.
She thinks I don't know what she's doing. She thinks that I'm asleep for sure. I've seen her sketch book. They're full of pictures of me in different poses. I'm doing this to humor her and I'm pretty sure her subconscious knows what I'm doing. I don't mind though. My love for her is completely irrational.
We both know