the morning ever.

I wake up to the sound of you showering. You let me sleep-in the extra 10 minutes by using the washroom first. I didn't feel you kiss me gently on the side of my cheek as you do every morning as you quietly get up without bouncing the bed. The downtown streets outside the window are already awake and alive. I'll stretch, rub my eyes and stagger into the bathroom to wash my face. I brush my teeth in front of the foggy mirror and wipe a clear streak across the cool glass with my palm. You come out in your bathrobe and brush your teeth next to me. We'll make silly faces at eachother in the mirror and take turns spitting and rinsing. We'll dance in our underwear to whatever's playing on Much Music, before getting dressed. I help you with your tie, and you brush my hair. While you check your emails on your Palm Pilot, I pour Orange juice, and put bagles in the toaster. On the wooden countertop, I'll notice 2 wine glasses from last night with red stains inside; one with lipgloss marks on the rim, the other without. I'll put them in the sink to soak. We eat breakfast standing up and you read the paper while I put on eyeliner in the hallway mirror. You grab my purse off of the kitchen counter for me and shove my cell phone inside along with an apple. You lock the door and I press the elevator button 5 times. You kiss me inside the elevator once the doors close. On the sidewalk outside we part ways and I'll tell you I'll see you at home tonight. You kiss me goodbye, and smooth my hair with your hand. I'll watch you walk off to catch the streetcar; tall, slim, broad-shouldered body cutting through the hazy summer morning light.