The Temperature of Morning

On the bus to work, I lean against the window and close my eyes. The conversation we had last evening comes back. It was nothing much, but turning it over now, I can see how careful you were being with every word. At the office, as I sit down, a sticky note beside the monitor catches my eye. Your handwriting. "Got you a coffee, take your time." A short line, but it holds the fact that you were waiting for me. We have become people who don't need to say anything to each other. Sometimes we hand over a coffee in silence; sometimes keeping each other's quiet is enough. Those hours pile up, and quietly we come to resemble each other's days. Morning light comes through the window and settles on the desk. I take a sip of coffee and think how lucky it is that today, too, I get to begin the same day as you.