For the first 22 years of my mostly single life, I enjoyed sleeping alone. I didn’t realize what I had. Sharing beds with occasional boys left me smothered, though I appreciated girls because they didn’t want to snuggle–we were just on vacation together. At 22 years and one month, I met the man who is now my boyfriend of almost one year. And he spends the night in my bed every single night.

Sometimes he talks in his sleep (funny) and wakes me up (not funny). He’ll laugh like something is really, genuinely funny, but if I try to ask him about it, he says something mundane like “Take out the trash,” and doesn’t remember anything the next morning. 

I have chronic mono (not really) and usually get tired at about nine. He doesn’t ever get tired. This, he says, is the only thing he dislikes about our relationship. He also doesn’t have a job, but he tries to understand what it’s like to have to wake up at 7:30.

I fall asleep when we start watching Star Trek around ten because he rubs my back and I can’t help but fall into a hazy delight of sleep. Then he gets up and does homework. It works, I think. Except this morning, when I feel asleep at about seven last night and woke up at four this morning. I tried not to wake him up. I didn’t move, I just got out his iPad and entertained myself. The light wasn’t really bothering him, but he knew I couldn’t sleep. I asked him if I could get him water. I was wide awake. I got him water. Asked him if he needed anything else.

And he asked me what was up. And I took a deep breath and asked if he was interested in going to Bruegger’s because it was 5:30 in the morning, right when they open, and I bet that’s when all the bagels are perfect and warm. And he said yes.

He drove me there and I bought us bagels and I think I am irrevocably and unstoppably in love in with him. We went back to sleep afterwards. I wouldn’t want to share my bed with anyone else and I don’t think I could sleep in it alone ever again. 


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