"I miss you, too..." I hear myself say the words in my head-but can't make them come out. Perhaps knowing that you shouldn't say something you don't mean is worth gold in another world. Humanity has lost that as a whole, I think. Autonomic in response to spit out words that sound like they are what needs to be said, instead of saying what you really need to tell someone.

I need to tell someone how special they are to me. I need to tell someone how much I care about them.
I need to feel someone understands me.
I need to feel I care.
That is my wife.

Waking up, having to rush, brushing my teeth, having a wash, toasting some bread, lacing my boots, locking the house, back to my roots.

My day begins in such a blur, I'm not even sure I do the things I do...robot-like in my repetitive action. Did I turn all the lights off? Is my shirt buttoned straight? I kiss you good-bye, tasting stale and smoky lips-with just a hint of mouthwash.

I go about my business, greeting patients, conversing with nurses, flying down the highway, moving bodies, wearing myself thin. I stop to eat around sundown. Then everyone is drunk. Everyone is depressed. They all want to kill each other. This whole city wants to die at the same time. I am not allowed to let them. In the wee hours nearing the end of my day, an old man falls out of bed. I feel pity, I feel anger, and I feel empty. Then he says "thank you" as he signs a refusal and I feel content and leave his house with a smile on my face.

I find myself staring off into space in the ER hallway...the alarm goes off on my cell-phone. I turn it off. "Damn, time to wake up." The sun comes back up. I fill out a stack of papers. I make a few phone calls. Then I remember you.
You answer, half-asleep. Mocking me silently with your yawn-stretched "hello". I am jealous.

Again, instead of "I miss you, too..." the words that form off my tongue are "Well, I'll be home soon. Sure. Love you." I come home, shaken from my shift. You talk about your mother. I drift and think about writing a song, then about showering. I hear you words...in sparse sections.
"said 'that cat is furry!"
..."told me to go to hell, so I was"
"milk" "cosmos" "new movie"
Then comes the one I love the most.
"Are you going to talk?"

It still blows my mind, how you have no idea what your husband does. What he sees. How he deals. How he means to tell you the things that you want to hear. How he wants to tell you that he cares. How he needs you to understand.

We argue about my job. I'm convinced that you hate me. Everything I say is another push in the wrong direction. You're stressed out. I make it worse. You don't understand how I can't take your life into consideration. I laugh to myself "There's a reason you can't wear size 13 boots"

You apologize. We make love. You make dinner. I make a song. We watch a movie. I fall asleep. You wake me up. The process begins again before dawn.
"Damn. I was having a good dream."

-Justin Massie 2008