Subject line: a million times a day.

 

seattle, washington. 

its quiet evenings that are the most dangerous. the void of important noise, the dull hum of the tv painting my living room with pictures unworthy of replacing any memory I hold. my mind hit capacity long ago.

it’s the simple, the monotonous that i know you will liven the most. you cook, and i clean while you sit on the counter and tell me the tales of your day. i realize for the millionth time in a day that i love you and we dance slowly, this time the television is a symphony.

it’s resting my head on a pillow, next to the great hollow half bed where you would sleep. waking up to alarms instead of the sound of your bare feet crossing the hardwood floor.

it’s saturday mornings, how i don’t sleep-in any more. i could rescue your favorite latte from the cold and you could wake in time to stay right there and read the day away.

it’s pouring out the extra coffee, it’s the leftovers, it’s even this damn bottle of wine i probably shouldn’t finish. it’s how everything is just ‘mine’ when, ‘ours’ is so much sweeter.

its living, daily, a single occupancy, in a life that was made for two.