Right now I'm borrowing Amanda's Macbook while she sleeps beside me. She's curled up against her pillow, breathing softly, and the cares of the world are nowhere to be seen on her face.
Regardless of my happiness in seeing her, I'm also glad for another reason. Glad to be seeing her hair spread across a pillow, glad to feel the bed move slightly when she rolls onto her side, and glad to be hearing each breath because it means one thing:
I'm not alone tonight.
So I'm going to carry on looking up places for us to visit in Edmonton and marking them on a map while Amanda visits dreamland beside me. It's times like this that I realize that I was merely okay before I met her, not truly happy. When I look back over the past few years before I met Amanda, they seem very quiet and empty.
Well, my life is currently full, as is my heart. I've got a small smile on my face as I type these words and glance over at Amanda, still slumbering peacefully.
And there it is. That elusive feeling that doesn't come along *nearly* often enough:
Quiet contentment.
Thanks for reading, folks. I should have another post up tomorrow morning just before we leave for Edmonton.
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