Sometimes in the middle of the night I wake up, still drowsy of the few hours of sleep I only had through the night. My eyes blink, trying to adjust to the dark room and also trying to focus on something. Most of the time they turn their attention to a blond shock of hair. Of course, one cannot tell they are blond at night, but I know them and I see them every day.

I smile, and it is more of a broken smile, as the person next to me turns around in his sleep, now facing me. My eyes fleetly gaze over his features, his eyes, his nose, and his lips. I pull the blanket away a little, just so I could free my hand and place it on the soft skin of his cheeks, thumb tenderly caressing it. He was beautiful, beautiful to me – inside and out. When he slept he seemed so angelic, even though he could be defiant from time to time.

And actually – actually he was difficult at times. Now, he got even more difficult.

While I stare quietly at his frame I notice that his facial expression changed for a second as he scrunches up his nose. I shift closer, wrapping an arm securely around his body and pull him closer to myself and then I notice that he nuzzles close against me. I feel his breath lingering on my skin in regular and content breathing.

Indeed he is an angel in his sleep and not problematic at all. I remember when he got easily frustrated at times and even over the littlest of things. He has in fact never been the patient type. My hand moves through his hair and I smile as I remember the time he first dyed his hair blond. He wanted to try out something new, something that would make him seem like a bright, shiny person. He has been tired of his ebony black hair and when he told me at that time I was just joking, because back then I (jokingly) suggested that he should dye it.

He thought it wasn’t a bad idea, actually he thought it was marvelous and bought a hair-dye the next day. It was blond and he was excited about it; having told that he couldn’t decide between blond and light brown first. I was the one who had to dye his hair with the colour and after washing it and drying his hair it was bright and more platinum blond than natural, which he rather wanted to have. At first it didn’t seem to bother him but after some time he got frustrated and very self-conscious, he wished his black hair back because a few people - friends, family - were telling him that black was better. Sometimes he was so paranoid and thought people on the street were talking about him and how awful it looked. I told him that he looked perfect, no matter which haircolour he got and after some time we corrected the haircolour which seemed more natural. He liked that more.

Since then he kept it. I feel him shift again and I close my eyes, keeping him next to me closely. The next moment memories are overflowing my mind and I cannot seem to push them away easily. I don’t want to think about it all, I don’t want it in my mind. It’s over and it’s done. But I will never deny the beautiful times we had together, nor will I forget them. But it does hurt sometimes to think about everything that has happened.

I nuzzle into his hair, it smells like vanilla, very sweet – and as I press my lips to his head I try to fall asleep again and push every thought that distracts me from going to dreamland away again.

And by now I figured out: Life is surely tough; Love is mostly tougher.