The sun has begun to rise, soft pink, yellow, and blueish tones cascade over the pillowy sky, streaks of light filtering through the thin material of the white curtains adorning your window. It’s not enough to wake either of you up any more than you already are, thankfully; allowing you to stay in a relaxed and tranquil state.

Gentle, featherlight yet tender kisses and touches. Soft whispers, like wisps of air that manage to form words somehow. Days like this are a secret language, old as time, one that not many speak anymore. People claim to be in love but have never even gotten close to it. You and Abigail? A different story — in the best way possible.