He had never brought her water.
There had never been a voice from another room, calling out her request...he had never spent a minute on a task so simple, so common...and in all the little things he felt he had done for her for some reason he had never crossed this off the list.
Because he had never been with her at that moment...at least that was his belief. When the world was a darkening sphere with a moon just under the window shade...when the heavy blankets might have been tugged downwards towards the foot of the bed, the throw pillows collected on the floor.
A quiet house, perhaps a slight creak when he walked. The peace of an evening.
He had never invaded this time, never watched as she perhaps disassembled herself from the day, layers pulled over her head, pulled down from her waist...leaving her ready to tuck into sheets and pull the heavier blankets up towards her.
He had seen her plenty of times when in public, had seen her laugh, lean in for a kiss perhaps upon saying hello or goodbye, the delicate scent of her just grazing him. She hadn't ever needed anything...composed and smiling without a single care in the world.
Care...that was what he wanted...well, rather, what he wanted to provide. And in bringing somebody water, that glass that will sit by the bedside, providing comfort and usually one of the last moments before closing her eyes...well, that is where he wanted to be.
When she was at her most vulnerable, her most relaxed...her most casual.
He wanted to be there, watching her accept the glass from his hand, maybe take a swallow, maybe smile a thanks...place it beside her bedside and knife her legs under the sheets and start to rest...start to slumber.
And he would be there, standing as she said goodnight...meaning she was here and she was comfortable with him being there as well...and expecting him to join her...and expecting him to wake up beside her.
That is where he wanted to be...
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