Someday I want to wake up next to someone in a great big bed on a cold January morning. I kiss the back of his neck and gently touch his left ear as he sleeps and quietly gasp at the coldness of his feet. I grin at the way he sometimes snores because I know he will deny it later. I close my eyes and drift off again, dreaming of his lips, only to wake again when he sneezes and then apologizes: "Sorry to wake you." "I was just thinking of you; you didn't interrupt." He looks into my eyes and I squint back, trying to find my favorite freckle near the tip of his nose. He leans over and tucks a stray peice of hair behind my ear. I touch his face. He says, "I'm thinking of growing a moustache," and although I resist change, I know I wouldn't mind. " I have to get ready for work," he sighs, but even this reality can't subtract from the total contentment we feel, and I smile because I know he really means "I love you." He climbs slowly out of bed while I feel around for his socks under the covers, like every other morning. I throw one at him, then the other, but they fall silently behind as he shuffles across the room. He turns around and grins as he picks them up. "Coffee?" I say, and he smiles because he knows I really mean " I love you." "Cream, no sugar," he replies; it's what he ordered the day we met, and he never changed his mind after that.