This Way

This morning I went to a cafe a few doors down from work for breakfast. It’s decorated with paintings by local artists and shelves crammed with used paperbacks — highbrow and classic, all — and tucked into a beautiful garden down an alley.

cafe this way

The leaves are already changing in Bar Harbor. The weather is still warm; the grass is still green; the flowers still bloom, but the leaves are falling. Tourist season winds down. It’s stunning.

It hurts to see this without you. I drive onto the island each morning and look at the ocean, and you’re not here. It feels disloyal to be somewhere so wonderful while you’re still at home, alone, and suffering.

I know. We’ve talked about this. Your condition makes it that much more important that I go out and do things, see things, for both of us. But none of it is full without you.

cafe this way table

You should be here to smell the food. Listen to the techno-reggae-jazz and the conversations of international tourists and local seasonal workers. We should be sharing bacon and coffee.

leaves on stairs

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