Always You

            You... The first thing I think about each morning is... you. The smell of your hair.... How your skin feels pressed to mine.... The way the sun streams through the window on your side of the bed, the light dancing with such joy across your gently sleeping face: Playing with each feature, as if the sun itself can't get enough of you.

             It's been seven years today. It's hard to wrap my head around that. Seven years... People tell me it "gets better with time" ... I'm not sure if that's true yet... Because all I think about is you. The way you style your hair with such precise care. The way you drink your coffee, so dark it looks like pitch. I try to keep my mind busy on other things, helpful or useful things. But... It only delays you. Pushing back the thoughts that will flood my mind as I sit in the stillness of moments left alone. It doesn't matter what I'm doing you come to my mind unbidden.

            My sister Daisy is always telling me to recenter myself when I feel you slip in. "Try finding everything in the room that's blue or count to ten and breath slowly." I know she is trying to help. She has been the only one that can. Even so, you are what captivates me and drives me.

            I dreamt of you last night. In a field of daises wearing soft flowing white clothes. The sun shines so gently on your face as to highlight its perfection. I open my eyes. As our small room comes into focus, the world collides with me and reminds me of what today is. The quiet morning sun hovers just over the large buildings of our city. It fills our small loft with such warm light it's hard to sleep. You always found a way through... I check my phone; the alarm hasn't gone off yet and won't for another two hours. I drop it on the other side of the bed, your side of the bed, and rollover. I pull your favorite watercolor paisley blanket, over my head and try to shut you out. I have a double shift today I'm looking forward to. Work always helps me tuck you into a small place in my mind and make room for other things. Things like spilled ketchup, screaming kids, and small thank you note left on receipts.

           My eyes roll over the room as I wait. Just next to my bed is the small nightstand, part of the three-piece matching set we got when we first moved in. Three small dead plants sit on top where you left them. I was never the plant person, but you loved having the house filled with "green living pieces of art". The beat-up white paint covering the nightstand was your idea.

           "Distressed is a good look on older furniture." You said the day you took a sanding block to the fresh paint.

           Next to the nightstand, on the wall parallel to the bed is the wardrobe you filled with all your clothes too fancy for me to shove into the dresser drawers. Tucked in the corner between the nightstand and the wardrobe, the only plant I have managed to keep alive. A small, sad-looking, lemon tree you started growing from a seed when we made lemon-aid on our last summer together.

           I pick up my phone and check the time. Still ninety minutes till my alarm. I let the phone fall to my chest and stare at the ceiling. We covered it in tiny glow-in-the-dark stars so we could always see our favorite constellations. Fuck it. I need to move. I get out of bed and walk to the dresser tucked into the small corner in the side of the room and grab my uniform. Black khakis and a red polo with 'DENNY'S' stitched into the left shoulder. I throw the clothes on the bed. As I pull off my worn pajamas, I catch a glance of myself in the vanity mirror at the end of our bed. My hair is scruffy from sleep. I recently cut it short, the way you always liked it. I ruffle it a bit and get dressed.

           My uniform dawned, it's time for breakfast. I glance around the room finding you in each corner. I make my way to our kitchen hoping I remembered to get eggs last night as I make my way to the fridge. I was never one to make fun or interesting foods. You would wake up two hours early and make us pancakes, fresh-cut fruit, poached eggs with hollandaise, sausages, and freshly squeezed orange juice or ginger tea. I on the other hand, like having the same simple breakfast every day. Eggs over medium and buttered toast. I cook them quickly and sit at the table. I look out of the large window onto the city. The windows were the reason you fell in love with this place over all the others. Sure, some had big yards or were close to nice things, but this one, this one had huge windows in every room. From this high, the people look like little beetles wandering around. I cut the eggs into small pieces and start piling them on the toast when my phone goes off. The gentle guitar music slams into me like a pile driver. I thought I deleted this song!