My coffee maker is finally making himself at home. I’m so glad. I was worried about him for a while there but he’s coming around. He talks to me while he brews now. Quietly at first and then with rising madness. Just the way I like it. It starts out innocent enough but soon goes rogue in all the right ways. I love him. I hope he’ll stick around for a few years or longer.
It’s Sunday morning and I’ve not even brushed my teeth yet. If you were here, I would have already done that. But you aren’t here. And there may never be a person here to kiss in the morning. Suddenly, that feels very tragic. I’d like a person to kiss in the morning.
I’ve never even kissed you in the afternoon. I’ve never even kissed you at all.
I’d still like to kiss you in the morning.
I cooked bacon, eggs and grits for Max just now. We’re having a late breakfast because it’s Sunday and who gets in a hurry on Sunday? He requested hot sauce on his eggs because he’s seen me do that. Do you like hot sauce on your eggs? I do sometimes. Not always. How do you take your eggs anyway? I’d cook them any way you like them. You already know that, though.
I’m having a hard time finding words lately. I guess that’s probably a good thing since I have a tendency to say too much too soon and at all the wrong times. If you’ve read any of this, I’m sure you must find me unhinged.
Perhaps I am.
Perhaps I am not.
Perhaps your light is just so bright that I can still see it.
In Between Days 