Routine

I felt her get out of bed and the sudden absence
of her body next to mine. I saw her at the foot
of the bed, skin bare in the slight chill of morning.
She gathered her towel and things to take a shower.
I let my mind wander as the sound of falling water
came steady from the bathroom. I gazed at the ceiling
as though I could divine the future from it. How much
of this life has been a dream? How much of it have
I actually lived to its potential? How much time yet
remained? I heard the falling water stop and the glass
door slide open. I could imagine the contours of her
being dried off. I thought of all the small touches we
had given other, touches of hands, fingers gently
grazing the nape of the neck, hands stroking the full
length of our backs. This comfortable intimacy.
She walked back into the room wearing her favorite
robe with her hair pulled up into a towel. She smiled
at me in the way that has always left me hopelessly
in love with her. "Are you going to take a shower?"
she asked. "I'll take one in a minute. Not in a big
rush right now." I said. "I'm going to have some
breakfast. Do you want me to fix you anything?"
she asked. "I'll probably just have some milk and
cereal." I said. She walked over and leaned down
to kiss me on the lips. That natural sweetness of
heart and body. How many years had I lived
without it in my life? She stepped out of our room
towards the kitchen. The residual warmth of her
shower was calling. I closed my eyes and found
myself so near and so far away.