I wake up and see your face.
Asleep. Smiling. So peaceful
I get out of bed. 4:00 AM
Hit the gym and then meditate.
You had a long night so you're knocked out
I shower and get ready for work.
Luckily the bed room is pretty much soundproof.
So the blender doesn't wake you. I chug my smoothie and get dressed. You always iron my clothes for me and you seem to always pick the right tie for my mood. It's like you feel my energy while I sleep.
Before I walked out of our loft. I see your note on the door:
I know I'm knocked out, but have a great day. I love you.
I smile and head to the elevator.
Conference calls. Board meetings. Lunch. Board meetings. Conference calls. Happy hour.
It's 7:00PM. Time to head home.
You have awakened. Written in your journal. Worked out. Ate lunch and then buried yourself in the studio. Ah, to love an artist.
I get home at 7:30. You show up at 8.
You always make sure we have dinner together.
You walk in, kiss me...I can smell the weed on your clothes.
It's fine cause you smell the cigarette smoke on my breath. It was a stressful day.
Thank God for meal prep. Neither one of us have time to cook. It's Thursday. Time for Scandal and How to Get away with Murder.
We sit on the couch and just enjoy each other's company and these veggies with shrimp. We only talk during commercial time, my rule, I'm trying to pay attention. You adhere and laugh at me when I get made when you ask questions or make comments in the middle of a scene.
The shows are over, you gotta head back to the studio. I have a few emails then off to bed. I close my eyes and doze off with ease. You come in at 2, shower and hop in bed and pull me in close
Then I wake up and realized that it was just a dream...
I wake up alone.
The gym never happens.
The meditation is my morning cigarette.
I still make my breakfast smoothie...at least something is real.
I rush to get to the office
Conference call. Stupid email. Stupid email. Stupid conference call.
I go home.
I come home at 9. Eat whatever I can find...it's ice cream tonight.
Scandal and How To get,away with murder.
Just me, Facebook, instagram and twitter.
Shows are over, bed time.
I go to bed gripping my body pillow.
When I can't sleep, I hop on dating apps
Swipe right, swipe right, swipe left, oh look a match
Let's say hi...no response
I turn over and grab my body pillow again
I close my eyes and dream of you
Until I finally pass out
My soulmate...in my head, but invisible to the naked eye
My dreams oh so beautiful...deferred