There is a little girl in my bed.
She is pretending the sheets are a fort. Tossing her arms in the air to watch the linen rise and then drift down to swallow her whole in a shower of static.
I don’t have to ask to know that she is happy here: In this room, on this bed, under the covers, with me.
I can’t deny that I feel exactly the same way.
I think we’ll stay in here forever.
Or at least until we get hungry and need to venture out for a snack.