My eyes open to soft light filtered through window blinds. I study the walls, sleepily noting the signs of life scattered in my line of sight. Movement, a soft embrace pulling me in for the first kiss of the day. We hit snooze and shift back and forth, taking turns every six minutes to comfort and cuddle until duty calls - responsibility in the form of an eight hour work day, and sometimes the rustle of children, drop our feet to the floor and starts the day.
Our routine is mundane, but quick. I find a small comfort in knowing he will leave the room first, but not before he seeks the crown of my head to leave a kiss in his place. I am the slower one – not because of makeup or trouble finding something to wear. It is because I linger in our comfortable sheets, settle into the warmth of my toes and contemplate with quiet anguish the inevitable coldness of the tile bathroom floor. I love our bed; I love my sleep. I rarely understand his ability to get up so quickly, to forsake our warm safe haven and start the day so soon.
When I make my way to the kitchen I am greeted with yet another kiss, sometimes several if our two tiny roommates feel up to it. The kitchen is busy; always a little too small, the fridge a little too empty, to fulfill our bustling needs. We multitask around one another: dishes, breakfast, lunch prep, cleaning … bumping into one another regularly and somehow finding ourselves exactly and precisely in the way.
Music plays as we construct this play. Sometimes we move in silence, sometimes we joke, sometimes – but usually only on the weekends – our kitchen becomes the setting of a poorly executed musical. Food is enjoyed, though quickly, things get packed and as we brush our teeth in unison, we manage to simultaneously avoid and make eye contact over a mirror I should probably clean. Jackets and shoes, all of the minor details we hope to remember, our spare five minutes disappearing in pep talks and movement, hugs and love for the day.
If we follow each other out we embrace, a precise six second kiss at the car to set the tone for the day. It keeps us connected even as we drive in opposite directions; all day I will remember the feeling of your warm, beautiful arms holding me in the crisp morning air. We must look so devoted to anyone watching without context, which is an assumption I am entirely okay with.
There is no past or future, only now. Now is the moment to make the best choices, to connect, to set myself up for success. Each day becomes the most important day of my life – a chance to say ‘I love you,’ a chance to improve, a chance to revel in the comfort of the sheets and find new beauty in familiar clutter. It may not be perfect – today I might stutter, I might trip up, I might fail – but the best thing about today, the most important day of my life, is that it starts again tomorrow.