The Breakfast

Although Camilla thought I did it far too often, I wondered what it would be like if I were alive. Giving in to such considerations was stronger than me, especially when I watched her go about her daily activities. She made herself breakfast, which was relatively nutritious because she had a hard day at college ahead of her. I summoned my strength and turned on the coffee maker, setting her favorite version of a caffeinated drink. Sometimes I wished I could try it, which both she and Zoey rave about, trying out some new sprinkles or syrups, whatever that means.

My thoughts drifted away for a moment and my imagination took over. What would our mornings look like, would we have breakfast together every day or only on weekends? Who would get up earlier? Maybe me, and then I would leave my beloved notes with nice messages and a prepared meal, as I have often seen in advertisements. Unless she would be the first one up and make me a packed lunch for work as well. I wanted to enjoy these little things with her, but I couldn't, and it hurt just as much every time.

I didn't even notice Camilla staring at me through narrowed eyes as she slowly chewed her sandwich. I wouldn't say I liked the attention with which she analyzed me, she knew me well, she knew what I was thinking, and yet she didn't reproach me for it. I was grateful to her that she wasn't upset with me however, she was frustrated at times, but she always assured me again and again that she was happy with me.

"What did you think about this time?" she asked politely. "You always have that weird expression and absent-minded gaze when you're drowning in your imagination about life if you were alive."

"I can't help it," I replied.

"And then you walk around sad for the rest of the day. I told you, if it hurts you, don't worry about it," she said, standing up and heading over to me.

"I tried to imagine what our mornings would be like, who would get up earlier and make the other person breakfast," I finally replied as she snuggled into me to comfort me.

"Of course, it would be you," she said firmly. "Even my immense love for you can't get me out of bed sooner."

"So that's how things are." I laughed and hugged her even tighter.

In fact, she was right, because sleep wasn't an essential part of my life now, sometimes I forgot what a sleepyhead Camilla was. If she didn't have to, she'd lie in bed until it was absolutely necessary to leave.

"You know how many times I wished I had not been born a medium," she whispered.

"You never said it directly."

"But I haven't thought that once since I've been with you." She raised her head and looked at me. "And I'm really glad you showed up then, and that because I was born a medium, I can be with you, despite the absurdity of our relationship. I can do this." She placed her hands on my cheeks. "And this."

She stood on tiptoe to kiss me. She slid her hands slowly through my hair and I guessed that it wouldn't end with a simple kiss. I pulled her even tighter to me, tightening my arms around her waist, and lifted her up gently. She wrapped her legs around my waist and laughed.

"Your coffee will get cold," I whispered between kisses.

"What a pity." She smiled. "You're going to make me another one."