Early Morning blues

The bed is warm, cozy even though the covers are strewn about and are more on the floor than us. The first rays of sunlight are beginning to spy on us through the curtains as birds sing in the tree, right outside the open window.1

I count each second away with the clock on the wall, mesmerized by each rise and fall of your chest. I brush a few stray strands of hair away from your face; the sight of you ?oblivious to the world, hugging your pillow tight ?steals my lips and twists them into a smile.2

I wish this moment could be eternal, but know that it's a fruitless desire. In fifteen minutes, at most, you will wake and I'll pretend I'm still asleep. You always see through me, though and will know it's just a farce. You'll think to yourself another lie, another front, is that all she's good for? You'll get up, leaving me cold and lonely.3

Another hour, maybe more, will pass before the kids come drag me out of bed. You have always been an amazing father, but you never were very good at the breakfast thing and being five, they can't very well take care of it on their own.4

So we'll move through another day, biting our tongues and forcing the smiles the world expects to see. Maybe, for a minute, two at most, we'll be truly happy before we go back to denying that we curse the rings around our fingers.5

I've always loved you, even when you were just a singing face, lighting up my television screen, though it was a different kind of love back then. I still love you, more than you could ever comprehend and I don't understand how time could turn us so fragile.6