My warm, sweet breath washes over you.  "Good morning," I whisper into your ear, nipping your earlobe as I pull away.  Sunlight rushes into our room from the windows on my side of the bed--you only sleep on the right side.  You are only half-awake, too engrossed in the warmth of the thick, white duvet cover to fully enter reality.

When your eyes finally flutter open, you see the large indent of my body in the unforgiving mattress.  The sound of the piano trickles into the bedroom.

Your stomach becomes thunder and the smell of bacon is so strong that you can almost see it wafting through the air.  You decide to venture down the hall toward the kitchen in search of the source of the godly scent, taking your covers with you.

"I love the blanket cape." You follow me into the kitchen, and the sound of the piano is replaced with the sizzle of frying bacon.

You smile at me.  "You can get me out of bed for bacon, but you can't keep me from bringing the bed with me."  I laugh, and you take in the full picture: sunlight floods the smoke-filled room and outlines my figure, a shadowy silhouette compared to my surroundings.  You smile in response to my laughter, and see the love in my eyes as I look at you.  You come closer and press your lips against mine, despite the smiles that lay across our faces.  You drop the blanket from your back as you wrap your arms around my neck, and the smiles slowly dissipate as we succumb to the passion.  I am too entranced to notice the stench of burning meat; you only notice because the bacon breakfast has not left your mind since you first woke up.  You pull away slowly, knowing I will always be here for more.

I caress your face with my soft hand, my long and slender fingers sweeping your cheek as gracefully as they glide over the piano keys.  You walk toward the island, picking up your blanket on the way.  The wooden bar stool is cold against your lightly covered skin, so you pull the duvet tighter around your shoulders as you watch me serve the bacon and eggs.

I set your plate in front of you, along with a glass of orange juice and a bowl of strawberries.  You glance down at the food and look up at me with thankfulness in your eyes.  "I am so cold."  You burrow deeper into the security of the blanket, and see me stand again.  Your eyes trace my movements around to your side of the island, and you feel my warm body against yours, the heat strong enough to penetrate the blanket and saturate your skin.  You feel one of my arms rise from your body as I grab a piece of bacon from your plate and settle my arm in the air in front of your mouth.  I feed the bacon to you, bite after bite, each time my body slowly sinking deeper into yours.  When the bacon is gone, our bodies remain against each other, slowly rising and falling as we breathe as one.  Your eyes close and we continue to move to our own rhythm for a grateful eternity.

You feel the weight of my body lift from yours as your eyes flutter open once again.  Rain pounds against the windows that once felt sunlight.  Miserable darkness is the only visitor.  You squeeze your eyes shut and open again, with greetings from the familiar black air.  Rolling over, you see that the left side of the mattress is perfectly flat, and I am absent.  A picture of us sits on the nightstand next to where I usually sleep, and a cold tear forms a path down the cheek that once felt my touch.  You have no ambition to get up from bed, no smell of bacon luring you toward me, and no sound of the piano drifting into the room.  You roll back over and feel a sharp pain shock your face.  You attempt to touch your eyebrow, but are blocked by a row of stitches.  When you bring your hand away from your face, you see bruises covering your arm.

The memories from that night overwhelm you: A pungent odor of alcohol takes over your nose. We had been drinking. Your ears begin to ring with the sound of screaming, and you force your eyes to close as tightly as possible in an attempt to escape. "Watch out for that car!" The sight of bright headlights intensifies on the backs of your eyelids and forces them open again. The collision.  You thrash in your bed, throwing your arms and your legs around until they untangle from the blanket that once kept you safe. There was a family in the other car. You try to ignore the pain, but it begins to twist your heart until it shatters once more. Three children are dead. A mother, gone. The husband left to suffer and grieve the loss of his family. Tears pour out of your eyes, but you do not cry for the family. You cannot cry for them anymore. You clutch the wrinkled letter in your fist, the written words etched into your brain. "I love you. I'll miss you. I'll wait for you. Don't cry for me...I'm okay. And you will be okay. I promise." You remember seeing me in that ominous chair, being killed for a mistake. A costly mistake. One final tear falls down your cheek. The last memory you have of me hangs in your mind too long--infecting every ounce of happiness you have left--so you roll over and close your eyes once more, knowing you will relive the pain again tomorrow.