five.

Day five of Michele's absence has been peppered with texts and emails from Michele herself - a good day.

...

He comes into Xanadu every morning, sunglasses on and head down.  He orders a small coffee with three cubes of ice, always telling me to keep the change.  It's been months now, and still the same thing every day.  

She walks in chattering in Spanish with the women who follow her like babies follow behind the momma duck.  She's loud and boisterous and orders oatmeal with strawberries and jasmine green tea - sometimes a bear claw, if she's decided to splurge.  It's been months now, and still the same thing every day.

They walk in and take over the room, children running back and forth, spattering handprints across the display cases (handprints that I will later have to wipe away, smiling as I do so, remembering the owners of these little perfect hands).  They order two yellow duck cookies, one small cinnamon roll, and a large mocha with whipped cream.  It's been months now, and still the same thing every day.

He walks in with a smile and inquires about my day, my weekend, my plans for the rest of my life.  He knows that I'm moving back to Colorado, he knows that my dad loves to fish, and that my favorite pastry is the large poppyseed roll.  I know that he's an electrician, his favorite week of every year is spent at the Channel Islands, and that he has a strong love for cherry turnovers.  What we don't know is each other's name.  It's been months now, and still the same thing every day.

...

We are such:

strange

fascinating

beautiful

...works of art.