It was a crisp morning. The sky was just waking up and he had gotten out of bed way too early. As he moved out of bed, he saw her breathing, the blanket moving up and down as she snored. No sense in waking her. Her day didn't start for hours.
He padded downstairs, passing the living room to the kitchen. He pushed the button on the coffee maker. He'd set it up the night before. He waited, then grabbed a mug from the shelf. He poured a strong cup and walked to the back porch where he could enjoy the brew and the sunrise.
Somewhere, he could hear a school bus door closing and a police siren.
Somewhere, she was getting his note card. He had been stupid to send it. She would be stupid to open it. He knew she'd never reply or even try to find him.
But he had needed closure. He needed a reason to not think about her at all anymore.
He didn't love her, not at all, but he couldn't stand the thought of her not loving him. It hurt.
Frowning, he took a sip of coffee and stared into the yard. The car would need an oil change soon. The grass would have to be mowed due to the unprecedented warm weather. The box in the back of the garage would have to be destroyed...soon. He gazed at the garage, making a mental note of the box's place in the back. It was buried under bikes, bags, other boxes, books, and other pieces of his past that made little sense to him now.
His wife didn't know he kept it when they moved in together. It held his journal, among other things, and he'd be humiliated if she found it. And yet, he couldn't figure out why he'd be ashamed. She was his wife, after all. Love unconditional...and all that.
He crossed his legs and took another sip. The last year went by so fast. In no time, he'd be one step closer to adulthood.
He had a good life.
He had a life.
He had the life he often dreamed about when he was little.
He finished the coffee and stood, looking out toward the sun.
Soon, he'd be at work.
It's about surviving, he thought. It can't be about what I want anymore.
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