The morning after you

Morning is bright, the sun stabs its rays through my curtains. Hungry, I go to my used kitchen. The children were just here, I say to myself. Hmmmm... there's eggs and dirty dishes.

But I make a stop at the mini AIWA. I have been ignoring this one for a while. It's the fucking computer, that's why. I don't have to spend my long fickle time looking for music. I just purchased Jackson Browne's very best album from my recent multi-purpose trip to Anchorage. The new inductee Rock and Roll Hall of Fame - Jackson Browne.

Two CD's of his greatest songs. I don't recognize some of them, I mused. I put CD no. 2 in. Running on Empty plays. I crank up the volume. Very nice... what a sexy voice.

Then ... I remember you.

I go back to my stomach's purpose. I see a piece of pizza on a tray that belongs to the toaster oven. I open the fridge door, well.... there's my bottle of Diet Lemon Coke that I bought from Wal-Mart. The friggin coke is not over yet, I smile to myself. It's come a long way. Coke and pizza, I am ready for breakfast.

But you just won't leave me alone.

Jackson Browne sings more songs. Then suddenly I hear him... "you've got to be somebody's baby...."

No shit.

I see you everywhere. I see every bit of you; each line on your face, every curve of your muscle. I feel you; the softness of your hair and how it contrasts with your muscular hard body. I smell you on myself. Your sweet breath lingers. I hear your breathing as you lay there. With me. With your head on my chest. You make raspy soft breathing sounds as you inhale, more alive as you exhale. I watch you sleep and I know I have fallen in my deepest pit. I tell your sleeping form that I adore you. I close my eyes to study my own feelings. I probably am just fucking desperate, I try to convince myself. But, no. That's not it. I could lie but not to myself.

I love this man, I finally confronted my worst enemy. Myself. I love this man. And it fucking hurts...