Looking up at the ceiling all I could do was laugh while one finger was placed across the hood of my eye. I did not mind that my view was partially blocked, vision being almost my most cherished sense of all, because it was your hand on my head. I did not want to get up, get out of bed on this lazy Sunday afternoon. I do not stay in bed, I do not relax for hours, letting the time slip away. With you I did. Maybe it’s because I knew we didn’t have much time left. Maybe, I felt comfortable.