The train...

The train passed on the hour, marking time throughout the night like the chime of a grandfather clock. Sleepy eyes opened to whistle sounds, slowly focusing. Lights from streetlamps seeped through the window's corners just enough to cast a thin beam of light across his face. He could always sleep through anything. As he lay there, unmoving, she took in his face. The subtle creases of his eyes, the slight curl at the corners of his lips. It was only a few seconds before her heavy lashes mingled with sleep, but in those moments she knew she would never take him for granted—the rise and fall of his chest, the curve of his back—his presence.