The 8am lights danced through the window and onto her collarbone, down her chest and along each rib, retracing the same path that he had followed a few hours earlier. The sunlight played in the curves of her ears and along her cheekbones, lingering for a moment on the peaks of her upper lips. The jagged surface of the birthmark on her chin did not derail the beam of light as it wound its way down her face and pooled in the hollow of her shoulder. She rolled over and stretched as if to allow the light to disperse throughout her body. It lodged itself in the roughened soles of her feet and in her fingertips and bounced onto his face as she touched her forefinger lightly to his forehead, his cheek, the end of his nose, the tip of his tongue. The 8am lights danced a little harder this morning– a little more frenetically– deviating from their prescribed patterns because this morning, she wasn’t alone.