I walked past the building on the corner this morning, the one we always wish we could live in, and inside, up on one of the high floors, you could see inside.  A man sitting at the kitchen table, all wood, all rustic in nature — reading a newspaper.  He was drinking coffee, and reading intently the news of the day, leaving the bits of rubbish writing for the toilet later.  He had a pencil in his hand, so as to remind himself that there are things worth remembering in the newspaper still, otherwise, why does he have it delivered on Sunday?
She was standing at the kitchen counter, in her underware of red polka-dots on light pink, looking as fresh as the morning could offer.  Absolutely perfect in her recently risen state.  Sun bathing into the large windows, her hands easily preparing the morning meal, albeit a late morning.  Last night was special, and for what reason she can’t fully remember, but she doesn’t ask questions anymore, because that only gets her into trouble.  What would this day be like with thoughts of those things?  She was barely sweating in her food preparation.  He looked over, and noticed small goosebumps on her thigh, even from across the room he could smell the scent of her shampoo, the smell that is somehow locked into his brain, in his mind now for life.  From across the room, peering over the newspaper at her ass, bouncing around the kitchen.  It has moved beyond lust? Yes. Impossible to think about the news.  Increasingly, these mornings are become something he craves, something he doesn’t understand either.  But why ask questions he thinks, why bring those thoughts into this feeling of complete and udder happiness, in this bright morning of opportunity and promise?

Sometimes, they don’t talk at all in the morning.  They just sit, do their thing and then, as time passes, it gets easier and easier.  They both know, the both understand each other, they read minds – they are soul-seers, those who can, with one glimpse, instantly understand the other because they are compliments.  There is no need for conversation — no need for pretense — no need to dive into a pensive state.  Instead, the morning meal is ready.  So quick, he thinks, so fast.  I thought we had more time.  She see’s his thought process moving in his head — is he thinking of me, she wonders?

She doesn’t realize he thinks of nothing else.

Breakfast was served.  The day had begun.  Time is moving.

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