Sometimes late at night when they were done with books or TV or puzzles or whatever was their passion at the time, they would lie together like two spoons in a drawer. He, always the better sleeper, would begin to breathe deeply and maybe start to snore softly before she ever came close to drifting off. She would revel in the warmth and security of the moment, and more often than not, follow him in to the arms of Morpheus. On rare occasions, though, she would find herself caught up in thoughts of others in her life, find herself engaged in a battle to solve the problems of those she loved. She would disengage herself from his embrace and flounder on her own. Cursed, she would call herself, cursed by love and devotion to family. Those nights were long for her. She would periodically reach for his body and touch his skin in an effort to ground herself. It worked, and with each touch she was renewed, calmed. Though sleep often did not follow for some hours, peace came with the knowledge that she could reach out at any moment and touch his skin.