Cliff

Mornings used to be my favourite time.
Well, really, my favourite time used to be when we first woke up.
After a long night of quiet conversation, whispered secrets, and love.
The love was always caring, but passionate.
He was such a handsome man back then.
But those mornings, they were what I really cherished.
After we got over each other's morning breath and crusty eyes, and just lay in each others arms.
But then of course school ended, and we moved to the big city, and got jobs.
The bags under his eyes grew heavier and grey, just like the flab of skin over his belly.
But I didn't mind that so much.
Then the time we woke up was just the time that followed the time that we slept.
Sometimes that was preceded by some run of the mill sex.
Most times it wasn't.
But I didn't mind that so much either.
I just was sad that our mornings we used to love so much were gone.
At least the mornings I loved so much.
Now he was out of bed before I was even awake.
He wouldn't wake me with a kiss anymore.
By the time I felt his weight leave the bed, he was already closing the bathroom door.
The first time I would see him in the morning these days was in the kitchen.

I used to cook him breakfast.
Back when I was still looking for a job and he had just gotten his at the newspaper.
He would complain about his work, both the big and the little things, and I would hang on his every word.
He loved to share with me before.

Now that I have a job that starts later, we interact for only five minutes in the morning.
I don't even sit.
I stand and drink my herbal tea.
The tea I drink to supplement the workouts I do, both during my lunch hour and after work.
To keep my body toned, fit.
Beautiful.
For the man sitting across the table from me.
With his nose in a book.
Chewing on a bagel.
His jowls bouncing with each clench of the jaw.
His messy combover slowly falling back over.
Not saying a single damn word.
He never tells me what he is thinking now.
But it's okay, I don't really mind.

Well that's not entirely true.
I know what he's thinking a lot of the time.
A lot of the time he is angry with me.
I never understand why.
I know I sometimes make mistakes.
But I can't just change overnight.
In fact I shouldn't have to change, should I?

No, he's usually right.
I should be a better driver, and a better cook.
Just a better wife in general.
He gets angry and frustrated and I know why.
I can be a better person and I know it.

I sip my tea and watch the wall.
His face makes me a little sick.
Just a little.
But I still remember the handsome face I fell in love with.
I see it buried there under all the fat.
Just like how his love must now be buried too.

I've counted all the tiles on this wall more times than I will ever need to.