I woke up and saw her face, which was highly unusual to me; I smiled instinctively. Not many things come to me instinctively; sometimes I say words come naturally to me, but that’s a lie. I wanted to kiss her, to lace her face with my lips, but I couldn’t risk her waking up; I couldn’t risk seeing her wrinkled eyebrows. She seemed so far away but got closer with each second. I looked at her and asked myself, what is the appropriate amount of time to look at someone while they sleep? How close is too close to someone? Should I get up and brush my teeth before she wakes up? Would my getting up wake her up? My anxieties started to creep in, and I decided to close my eyes for a few seconds; I opened my eyes again as if my pallet was wiped clean; I felt the full force of her presence again, just like walking under a waterfall, then standing still.

She eventually woke up but didn’t seem equally happy to see me with my eyes open, a few inches from her face, smiling from a place I had forgotten. I asked her a question, and she mumbled without opening her mouth. She didn’t like to talk in the morning because she thought her breath was terrible, but I never got the chance to confirm that. I said she doesn’t have to say anything, but can I at least kiss her on the cheek? She smiled slightly yet reassuringly and nodded. I gave her a peck and got up to brush my teeth.

I stepped into the bathroom and immediately saw my reflection. It was time to step out from under the waterfall. I saw my face and realized why she wasn’t as happy to see me as I was to see her. It was as if the beautiful and the grotesque decided to meet halfway; you get the beautifully grotesque. I tried to wash my face, but the repugnance wouldn’t go away. With every splash of water, I open my eyes and, look at a different face, and splash again with more aggression. I splash one final time and attempt to walk away without glancing at the final face, pretending to have a modicum of control.

I went back to bed. The bed was the same size, but she was farther than ever. I know it was one of the faces I saw that got her to turn her face away from my own, but I could not tell which of them. Yet her power remained: for a brief morning, for a few beautiful minutes, she made me forget which face I had on. I had, maybe for the first time, in the presence of someone else, instinctively acted instinctively. It was never meant to be a permanent feeling; I hadn’t earned that yet, but I wondered in amazement, how one person, with her eyes closed, lying on a bed, facing a wall in a crummy midtown apartment, could leave this amount of happiness on someone she barely knows. She left traces of this wherever she went, and I let my mind wander; what if I had this power on someone else, completely unaware, staring at a wall in a crummy midtown Manhattan apartment.

Now, every time I wash my face, I wonder which one had made her fall for me in the first place, eventually muttering to myself that it doesn’t matter, as it was not enough to keep her. Still, I smile at the thought that I was ever enough for one beautiful night.