Oh the bee bee.
He's gone for a Month,
for this home,
It's not easy,
missing your best friend.
But it's better that you know the marrow of your bones
miss this man
than glide lightly through the next decade
Missing on him.
But for now,
my bed is a cocoon of heavy blankets
sketchbooks and reading material,
journals and late night drawing sessions.
A pile of Rolling Stones stack up near my knees,
and I promise to devour them all before his return.
And don't tell, but there's an old stinky yellow lab
right next to me
whose blonde hair will surely give me away.
No dogs in the bed is a stupid rule anyway.
It's a great morning, a great time for thinking about the next adventure,
to dream in a singular term,
only to enrich what *we* are.
I dig my toes to the bottom of these sheets,
and stretch to his side of the bed,
which he would argue,
isn't more than a foot or so.
I am a notorious bed-hog,
and I revel in all the space this morning.
But the dog keeps me on my side,
and I feel a bit guilty for shoving him out of my elbow's way.
I do wish someone would bring me some coffee,
but I fight the urge to close my eyes a little longer,
and get up to make the coffee myself.
The house is chilly,
the October air sneaks through the cracks in our drywall.
The barely-sunrise air calls me back to bed as I force a teapot to boil.
My nose is sniffly from the chill,
but the slippers keep these feet off the icy floor.
That's what you get for tearing off half your home
at the sign of fall's first frost.
I've never been more appreciative of an already-built fire in our wood stove,
roaring before the sun was up.
And insulation. Yep. Insulation is awesome.
I swear I just saw my breath condense. inside.
I believe it's imperative for a couple to spend time apart.
I really think it's easy to loose touch of your roots.
of who you were before there was a *we*.
And it's important for me to know it,
feel it in these slippered toes,
I am a better version of myself than I was last year,
and the year before that.
I am good.
I could be alone.
I am not afraid of it.
I could build that fire and warm up our home.
I made that coffee for myself,
and I'm going to work on what I can of our construction project
today. alone. too.
But I am better with him.
No doubt about that.
This home is warmer with him here.
I am a better me when he is here.
The teapot crones it's whistle,
I jump out of this bedding nest,
startle the dog,
and start today.
But it's the *we* that I start today with,
And it makes me crack a quick morning smile.
up and at 'em.