There's an awful lot of breathin' room, but I can hardly move

My sweet and beautiful start to every day, my hope, my dawn.

[Her name was literally poetry that could write itself. He remembers being challenged to write poetry once. Now he had a reason to. It made him smile to think about it.

Nudging her nose with his softly, he pulls her in to lean against him and thinks quietly.]

I do have them from time to time. It's not like I have them every night any more, but a few times a week still. It's rough.