This Is Our Routine

Every day we wake up looking for breakfast in bed,
of bacon and eggs
and honey and tea,
from someone who didn’t go to sleep with us.
Every day we sit on a table for six,
five tucked under the table,
advanced regrets over the sunshine we are about to miss.
Every day we run the mill,
alternating between upbeat songs and Lana Del Ray tracks,
rubbing the sweat from under the chin,
and letting the salty drip down from our lids.
Every day we check the calendar for the dates that used to be important,
circled in red,
and just didn’t make any sense these past few months.
Every day we sit on the same sofa bed,
thinking of the hypothetical conversations
we wish we are having with someone right here, right now.
Every day we check the empty closets
and our empty inbox
and think we might need to get a pet.
Every day we tell ourselves we’re going to be okay,
“i’m going to be okay”
until it’s morning again
and we wake up looking for breakfast in bed,
of bacon and eggs
and honey and tea,
from someone who didn’t go to sleep with us