I run my hands through my hair and yawn myself awake as I do every morning before I stumble into my slippers and head towards the coffee machine.
This morning was different, first of all I had woken up later than usual and not in the comfort of my own bedroom.
I looked to my right and there she was, so peaceful.
Her rosy red cheeks and pale porcelain skin glowed in the light streeming from the bedroom blinds.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of her, following the long dark hair as it spread across both pillows.
She is kind, caring and has a personality that fills an empty room.
She is unique and puts a smile on my face without saying a word.
She is my reason to keep going and the rope that holds me together.
This woman is my obsession, I think about her every night before I fall asleep, every spear second I get through the day and she is the first thing that crosses my mind in the morning.
But to her, I am nothing.
I am the one she cries to when she falls out with her boyfriend, I am the one who picks her up after a long day.
I am the one that never gets to show her off in public or take her on vacation.
I am the one that has to sneak around and wait for her to call me.
I am the one that wakes up alone nearly every morning with only one thing on my mind.
I am the one that will never be able to call her mine.
I am the one that yawns himself awake before stumbling into my slippers and heading for the coffee machine. I am the other man.