DatingJosh

Each morning I awaken to a dream. The early morning light spreads, blue-grey, across my room. I awaken to a dream that I am alone, that I am lonely, that there are no flaxen blonde hairs on my pillow, that my sheets are bereft of her scent.

I fumble toward wakefulness; I stare into haggard brown eyes reflected in the mirror. I try not to look too closely at the face in the glass. The shower is empty and clean. There is no damp towel hanging on the rack, no drops of water glistening on the toothbrush handle. Everything is neat and proper, exactly as I had left it the prior evening.

The warm water is soothing; the steam clears my mind. The sting of soap in the corner of my eye reminds me that I am indeed awake and alive. I shave and dress quickly, then reach into the box for my shoehorn before I am fully ready to step out the door.

The letters are in the box. I pause to read random words, selected passages. I focus especially on the handwritten one, the one signed with a dog paw.

I shake my head and sigh. The letters are neatly returned to their special place. Belongings are shuffled into pockets. The door is locked with a dry rasp. I tell myself that I am going to be okay.

Some days, I almost believe it.