you watch me swirl around on the tiles my legs fluttering with tiny steps, when one large one would be "just fine" you point out.
poring water, chopping vegetables, making coffee, filling another glass milk.. I hardly notice the looks I should be paying attention to.
you sit watching me when you ask "So is this what you do? It's not even 9 A.M. yet".
"Yes, it is," I say, aiming a smirk at you, "we have to eat, and I like pasta".
while the water boils, I sit beside you with a blue mug of coffee in my hand. handing me a cigarette and a lighter you say, "Here". "Oh, thanks". I didn't realize you knew me so well.
I didn't say anything to you. I never know what to say, so I sat beside you. watching everything, soaking it all in. I wanted to remember every last second.
your stained blue couch, how you shifted in it. the curve of your thumb, the smell of your hair and how it feels in-between my fingers.
enjoying the weight of your hand on my knee, I heard bubbling. I cursed the water for boiling so quickly, causing me to jump from our seat as it overflowed onto your stove. "My bad", "Why worry?"
You were just like that. "Why worry?"... so I didn't. Once I mopped up the water I squished myself back beside you. This time kissing your neck until it happened again. I didn't apologize for it.
In my own kitchen months later I continue to make pasta for breakfast. I spin around on my kitchen tiles wondering what we would be talking about. I keep up my end of the conversation.
it's not really a new schedule, this lonely routine. none of these thoughts are new, just like this memory isn't either.. but i'm still adjusting to this "new life".
mornings aren't the same without you.. and cigarettes aren't as sweet with my coffee anymore.