By jenn
Date: 20 January 1999

Coffee

The smell of coffee brewing tickles deep in my dream, and stirs me awake. As I
hear the sound of the coffeemaker puffing and gurgling, it hits me. You've come
back !! And you're going to bring coffee to me in bed like you used to. You'll
beg the cat for a corner of the bed, snuggle in and drink the rich brew beside
me. We'll discuss what needs to be done today, and plan our dinner tonight. We 
won't talk about our last argument, or the fact that we don't really communicate
any more. We will watch the sun rise, and ignore the fog between us. We will 
drain our mugs, and sit silently side by side, barely touching, yet feeling the
heat that pulls us together. For the few minutes before our hectic working day,
we will just be.
So I wait. And as the fuzziness of sleep leaves my mind clear, I start to cry.
My memory has tricked me. You are not back. I have forgotten that last night,
before bed, I set the automatic timer on the coffee-maker you got me for Christmas.