RE: 6 years, 8 months, 5 days and 11 hours from here
You’ll awake to the sound of the dogs, who’s names you revise just about quarterly. You drink that second cup of coffee, the catalyst to your carefully planned day. Before departure you will carry out a matured ritual consisting of a large breakfast, (vegan of course, you still love every animal almost as much as your dogs), accompanied by a third cup of coffee(last night you were awfully reluctant to retire), succeeded by a carefully devised list of things for me to do during the day (you were always a cartographer when it came to cooking up a different routine for me everyday, my scattered-brain thrives on that, you know).
You take the train to work and although it takes you some time to assimilate to public transport, you find sheer joy in people watching. I’m not with you to be the necessary cynic, but you conjure up dialogue for me regardless. You enjoy your alone time. After all, you do look forward to it every day more than anything else (save the meal I have reserved for you every night after you get home from work). As soon as you open the door you begin telling me about your day. Without even talk about the job, you skip straight to telling me about your commute. I treat the conversation like you’re pitching me your lastest script. I ask the questions you don’t think of and you respond to them refreshingly thoughtfully.
We treat ourselves to a glass of wine. Tonight the merlot, a stark difference from last night’s shiraz. We bounce ideas off each other for hours, you being a writer at heart, provide me with a view of life from a second lens. Imperative to stereoscopic vision you know. I mean, how can one truly see life from only one point of view? Sure, I might have some obscure ideas about things, but really, I’m just challenging your faith. It’s inspiring to see someone so passionate, so alive. I need someone like that around you know. Sometimes I may seem like a pessimist, I can be a downer sometimes, but I’ll still try to make you laugh. You always thought I had the strangest humor; It’s obvious in your crooked smiles, a contrast to when you really show your teeth. I always loved how you kept my wit on it’s toes, refining clever comments.
Our conversation wilts as our minds begin to wander. I can tell you need your sleep, as do I. On the way to our bedroom(which is also our living room/kitchen/storage room) we can’t help but gaze out the porthole at the cityscape, some ten miles from our apartment. I’m still in shock that I convinced you to move here.
I can’t think of anyone any more well suited to live in this studio apartment with me. The dogs keep it a mess, but keep the heating bill relatively low as they jump onto our king sized futon. They little ones name is still Atticus, right?
