I would watch you sleep, see your dreams chase each other behind your closed eyes.
I would listen to the whisper of your soft, slow breath.
I would wait till the morning slid in through the curtains, and gently nudged you awake. Be with you, as you made the journey from last night's dreams to the reality of another day.
I would sit there, curled up and comfortable, on the couch by your bed, and inhale the second-hand-smoke from your first cigarette of the day.
I would watch you, as you threw off the sheets, slipped your feet into your chappals and shuffled off into the kitchen with a resigned sigh; I would smile at that.
I'd listen for the contented bubbling of the percolator, as it prepared your first - of four or more, depending on what kind of day you were having - cup of coffee.
Black, no sugar.
I would relive the countless mornings that we'd gone through the same routine - sleepy mornings, cigarettes, slippers, coffee - and I would wonder; would you do things differently, if you knew I was there?
If you knew all of us were there?
This post, incidentally, is in answer to the question Amit asked, about what you would do if you were invisible.