Captured

I wasn't supposed to take the picture in the first place. There are strict rules about what I can and can't take pictures of.

No surprise photos and especially no sleeping photos.

But.

When you live 2348 miles apart and your dates all have a finite end to bump headlong into with a seperation looming, these kind of pictures become more than just pictures. No matter how blurry or poor their quality they capture that time and when that time is weeks or months over they allow you to go back, if only briefly.

Plus, like most live wires when stilled, he's just so arresting when he's asleep. Whether it's a nap on the couch (quilt pulled up to his chin), under a book (he's not a reader at all but wanted to know what my love of Antarctica was all about) or this one.

We were away on a rockabilly weekend and had been running hard in the hot sun all day, enjoyed three bands, got ourselves thrown out of the closed pool then tumbled, laughing, back into our room for a bath. In the time that it took me to take my face off he was asleep in the tub-all six foot three of him, water running over his feet, his head resting the in soap dish. Yes, he's naked but it's not a sexy picture at all-not with that farmer tan. No, it's a tender one. A wholly private moment, captured and preserved as a talisman againest future loneliness.