oneshot, after 26. slight vxme - could be seen as kxme, but knives doesn't eat donuts?..
DonuTs fOr breakFAST
Every morning it's the same. I wake up, put on my bathrobe, tiptoe downstairs, and he's there. Just sitting at the table in our small kitchen, musing over his own thoughts.
I sometimes wonder what he thinks about. He never tells me.
I'll usually pour myself a cup of coffee, and sit down at the table again, clearing a spot in the sea of bills and forms. I'll try to plan my day, remind myself how I need to clean the house again. Make a list of the groceries we need. Collect the dirty laundry, and bring up the clean.
And then I give up. I never was very good at housekeeping.
He'll look up at me, smiling slightly. A weak half-grin, I call it. I ask him if he wants anything to eat, and he shakes his head "no".
"This will be fine."
And he'll motion to what he's eating. And then he'll look at something far away from me again.
Then I'll nurse my coffee, and continue to watch him think.
His eyes are so different every day, some days they'll be cloudy - grey skies reflected in his thoughts. And other times, they'll be so bright - sunshine on the sea - and he'll just be quiet for a while until he'll let his meager happiness escape, and then our day will begin.
Then he'll drag himself out of himself, and look at me again. And he asks me if I want some breakfast, and motions in front of him.
So I reach over, to the half empty, half full box in the middle of the table. And we'll munch companionably, in silence.
We'll sit together for about twenty minutes, not much more. Then he'll begin to snap out of it, his excuse being that his brother should be awake by now, so if he isn't already. And I'll nod; knowing that although she's not specifically told to, Milly will wander in around 10:30. So I begin making toast (burned, but still edible), eggs and more coffee for their breakfast.
Milly and I still work together, and usually will leave together a few hours after eating. He helps people out, with anything (odd jobs, mostly), when he can...
He rarely smiles as happily as he use to. I think his closer brushes with death, although he knew it so well already, took away his ability to be pretend. So when he does let loose a true, non-cynical grin; or reminds me of what happened that day in that city, it always makes me feel so much better. Like the world is healing.
So he'll scoot back his chair, get up, and stretch. I'll finish the last few drops of precious caffeine in my cup, and fix my bathrobe as I put the kettle on once more.
As he walks out of the room, I'll take the box from the table, and collect the half eaten crescent remaining to give the black cat who hangs around. Then I'll begin making eggs, throwing out the empty egg carton along with the donut box.
Do you know, as I watch him amble along the hall, humming an empty tune... I finally realize that I really wouldn't have my life any other way.
we always have donuts for breakfast
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