The weather is really light out; the breeze is cool but these sheets are warm and it's overcast but not cloudy. It's the perfect weather to wear sweatpants and tee shir- no, actually, it's the perfect weather to wear your skin atop mine. The perfect weather to caress your curves under these soft sheets, letting my body warm yours, letting my hands hold yours, letting my eyes drown in yours. It's the perfect weather to coat that lovely face of yours with happy kisses and smiles. It's the perfect weather to talk about how we'll raise Marlye and how big or small our house will be in Bremerton. It's the perfect weather to lie down on your stomach and list the reasons why you make me smile.

*But, in reality, you're not here.
So, it's the perfect weather for me to silently pad downstairs in sweatpants and a hoodie at 3 in the morning, start a *** of coffee, and plunk out lonely melodies on this piano of mine as I wait for my coffee and my heart to warm up. It's the perfect weather for my bones to ache for you, the perfect weather for my lips to still longingly have the lingering taste of you.

It's the perfect weather to miss you.

And you know I'm at a loss for words right now because I'm talking about the ******* weather.