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Off to Work Again

I get up in the morning, my senses dulled by the routine of it. I'm ready for work without thinking a thought, I've done it a thousand times. The warmth of the shower, the smell of shaving cream, it's all a mindless blur. I stare blankly at my phone "5:38". Time to go... But not before the part of my routine that I love to hate the most. The part that awakens my senses for the first time in the morning, with a sort of sweet anguish. Saying goodbye to my woman. She's typically attached to my pillow by the time I tip-toe back into the bedroom, my scent on its cover serving as weak compensation for my absence. I lean down, struggling to find her face in the dark. My lips land carefully on her forehead, and for the first time that morning I am human. I am a man. I have purpose. We tell each other sweet things, because who knows what the day will bring? I kiss her face one last, long, time and pull myself away before the sweetness of the moment overpowers my will to go to work. I walk out the door to face the day, leaving a piece of my soul in that room.

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