We measure our time apart by the number of nights we must sleep alone and not snuggled comfortably together. As I write this, we are but two singular nights from each other’s arms and legs in a relaxing tangle of flesh.

Ten days together. As a couple. As a family. It’s almost harder to wait the closer it gets.

When we are apart, we both sometimes indulge ourselves in re-reading emails and old IM conversations. For some reason I remembered a poem that Rob wrote for me just before our first Valentine’s this year. I had discovered he could speak French.

J’aspire à jour où

je peux vous prendre

dans des mes bras et

couvrir votre visage

de baisers.

Un jour bientôt

assez pas bientôt.

Two more sleeps.