It’s been two months since I last looked into your eyes and breathed in the smell of the navy t-shirt you always wear and tasted your lips and I’m lying in an empty bed, foetal position, and slowly, like the way you remember how a person looks when they smile, I remember I’ve forgotten to clean the kitchen and so I get up and I’m loading the dishwasher, bent over and sleepy and aching, and I accidentally get some pasta sauce on my shirt so I move to the sink and turn on the faucet and then, like in a dream, I hear you come in and place the little golden door chain back in its place and kick off your shoes and you come up behind me and wrap your arms around my waist and your chin finds the top of my head and I feel you kiss the side of my neck and tighten your hands around my stomach and your body whispers, “I’m home, I’ve missed you, darling I’ve missed your lips and your arms and your skin and your voice, but I’m home now, I’m sorry, I love you, I love you, I love you…” and I close my eyes and
when I open them again, the room is pitch dark, and slowly, like the way you remember a place from your childhood, I remember that the dishes have already been done and you have not come home and your pillow is smooth and your side of the bed is cold and unwrinkled and you are lying somewhere else, breathing somewhere else, and I am alone
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