Mourning Coffee
The bedsheets remain undisturbed on what would have been your side of the bed. My hand drifts across imagining the dark spread of hair and splashed across the pillow, curious morning smile awaiting.
Rolling over to stare at the ceiling, I listen to the footsteps that never make their way across the old wooden floor to the kitchen. Water running, metal soft clanging. The hushed delights of your favorite routine bring forth the aroma second only to yours.
Hot drip cup splash, the ever-lovely nectar steams up whispering prepared with care. The front porch, a place I imagine you would’ve loved in the first light. My favorite long t-shirt hanging down, down tucking your knees under like a child. Perhaps a crinkling of the button nose upon ingesting that first steamy sip.
Through a haze of yesterday, that new day sun cascades through the trees illuminating the dew on the grass like tiny, twinkling stars. Somehow it reminds me of the last time. That sparkle you had in her eyes, casually tossing long black hair, glancing at me through conversations. How I knew you were thinking of me even while talking to others.
I’m consumed with wonder about what might have been if I had just stayed one time. If I had not been my usual self. I remember late-night conversations and sneaky smiles between flirty words. Your futile efforts to pierce through heavily guarded walls searching for that connection through yearning eyes.
My mind fumbles through old memories like text messages that should have been deleted long ago. I shouldn’t be able to recall your dimples squinting through the steam of our late night dinner plates. But I do. I have no right to remember the sweetness in your gestures and the kindness of your words. But, I’ll take that right. I wished I didn’t have to remember that longing look of confusion as I walked away. But I can’t forget. I wish you could know how I thought of you as I drove away and how scared I was that you had seen even the slightest shard of this broken me. How I wanted to tell you that I dreamt of you and how I wish that I knew myself so that you could know me too. Now I’ll never know the true beauty of your heart or the light of your soul.
I imagine the grace of your loveliness gracing feelings adored and reciprocated. Steam sipped longing that has become my morning routine. All I can do is sit here and stare at the morning dew, drinking my overpriced coffee and wonder what it might have been like to laugh with you in remote locations. I know you’re off somewhere, traipsing through those locales with somebody who is worthy of you. I know you’re better off. I suppose today, I’ll just refill this coffee and try to be a better man. Sometimes that’s all we can do.
Untucking your knees from that well-worn t-shirt you rise, grab my cup, not asking if I’d like another. The turn of your head, slight beauty grin. Gross green envy at the man who sits on the other side of that smile.
A better man. Sometimes that’s all we can be.
