'Someone to watch over' by Brian Weston

From my vantage point I have a view into your world.
Your life history. Page by page.
Every morning you are the first one awake. At 6:30 you open the back door and let the dog out. You don't like the dog. The dog doesn't like you. You are not its master.
When the morning sun is out you raise your head up into the rays.
You engulf yourself into the warmth of the sun. For a second you look. Happy.

Then chaos ensues as the rest of the house awake. In the madness you blend into the background. Invisible in your own house. But I see you.
You go to say goodbye to her. The body language speaks volumes. She recoils as you move closer. Eventually letting you kiss her on her cheek. She swats your arm away like an irritating fly as you try to affectionately touch her. You look like you have been mortally wounded. Weighed down with sadness you slouch out of the house.

Calmness descends as the house empties. The house breathes a sigh of relief.
She potters about the everyday mundane that nobody likes to do.
At 1pm, Tuesday and Thursday her lover slithers into your house.
Her body language is different. They could not be closer. Passion and lust in equal measure. They make love on the kitchen diner floor.
The new flooring that you laid last Bank Holiday weekend. By yourself. On your own. Alone. I feel sick for you. I feel hurt for you. I want to tell you.
I know if I told you it would not hurt as much. But I am not allowed.
Those are the rules. My stupid rules.

Thirteen hours later you return.
You move silently around the dimly lit room. Like a considerate intruder.
You even pierce the film on the microwave meal as quietly as possible. Just to ensure you don't wake anybody from their slumber. Always kind, always thinking of others.
You start to eat. After a few mouthfuls you raise your head. Chewing, you survey your domain. When you finish chewing you still keep looking around the empty space in the room. You look lost. Alone. I feel a tear roll down my cheek.

Every morning you are the first one awake.
At 6:30 you open the back door and let the dog out.
Today you stand in the morning sun.
With your arms outstretched it looks like you are trying to hug the sun. I share a smile with you.