the afternoon light comes in the same way,
the ceiling fan turns at the same speed,
i make coffee for one and watch the steam rise,
the kitchen smells like always;
her side of the table is just a chair now,
no sound of her moving in the next room,
no voice cutting through the silence,
just the hum of the fridge doing its job;
i pick up my phone and put it down,
not because there is nothing to say,
but because i don't know how to start,
so i don't;
i keep reaching for something that is not there,
the way you reach for a light switch in the dark,
just muscle memory,
a life built around her;
tonight i will eat too little and sleep on my side,
i will leave her pillow exactly where it is,
and lie there listening to the city outside,
counting the hours like they owe me something;
