Oliver woke up, ready to probe the universe's junk drawer of unasked questions, at 4:30 am. It is still dark at 4:30. I am still dark at 4:30. This didn't bother Ollie. He had questions to ask.
Now, he is sleeping, on my pillow, in the remains of my sleep and I hope that he dreams of love. I hope that when we wakes up I will be sufficiently caffeinated to withstand his expansion with good humor. This will require more than one mug of tea. Seeing him there, quiet and dreaming on my pillow I hope that I will manage, because right now, he is my joy.
Black tea, over-brewed, almost steaming.