I make up the bed after another night spent in dreamless sleep, kicking the sheets. Why must there be such a discrepancy between what there is and what I thought there'd be?
I meet with my friend with the same affliction: white elephants wait by the door. I ask, “How do you know when to give up the ghost?"
He says, “Friend, I don't know, you just do I suppose. You can trust what you're told, but it's best if you don't.â€
I'm trying to sleep, once again, in the din of the noise from the street, but sleep doesn't find me so I get up to fix something to eat. It's six in the morning when I wake up on the couch in my jeans feeling tired of all of this stuff.
A few hours pass and I'm making breakfast for my girl, she's asleep in our bed. I ask, “What do you need?â€
She says, “Milk in my tea, and coffee with cream and some sugar, my sweet.†When I ask what she means she says, “Lie to me, please.â€
So I do, and it suits her just fine. I pour cream in her coffee so it tastes how she likes. I have pulled the wool over the both of our eyes and we just get on with our lives.