My Subconscious Versus My Reality

I am unconsciously aware that it is early morning, and I am in bed alone.

The sickeningly sweet smell of your favorite brew kisses my nostrils

And I am immediately yanked from my slumber.

As I rub my eyes and struggle to get my bearings,

I think for a half second you’re in the next room,

And that when I enter, it will be last October

And everything will be as it should.

You’ll wrap your arms around my neck and ask if I dreamt of you,

Even though you know I always do.

The sunlight shines brighter now through my window,

And it’s as if you’re trying to say hello.

I drag my heavy, tired body out of my oasis

And carry myself into the kitchen,

My feet slapping sleepily on the cold tile along the way.

When I enter the kitchen, my eyes skim the room

Until they fall on the coffee pot next to the stove.

I remember when we first moved in,

How we went to four different stores until you fell in love

With the firetruck red exterior

And all of the magic you said it held.

Mornings were always your favorite,

And though I didn’t understand the infatuation,

Who was I to deny you of this little pleasure?

Besides, the wide smiles I would receive

With every cup would be well worth it.

Looking at it now, I vaguely remember that you are not here

And it is not last October.

The month is December

And I would give anything to see your face again.

I pull our favorite mugs out of the cabinet and fill them to the brim.

Carrying them into the den,

I almost lose my breath when I look out of the window.

Sunrises haven’t been the same without you

And each one feels like a shot through my heart,

But I make a point to attempt to enjoy them for the both of us now.

Setting your mug down on the side table,

I reach out to gently stroke the beautifully engraved metal urn

Resting on the windowsill before taking my seat.

I take in a deep breath,

Lift the mug to my lips,

And let my mouth fill with my favorite reminder of you.

When I finally remember how to exhale,

After my mouth is long-burned,

I swear I can faintly hear a “good morning,” grace my ears.

Well, good morning, my angel.

I can’t wait to watch you use the colors of this sunrise to tell me

All about what it’s like up there.

And I hope you haven’t forgotten about me.