All things come to this:
I try to imagine the simple things that you do
but without me watching.
The grazing of the towel against your wet skin,
that swish as it dusts off the dew of the shower—
Did you remember to wash the bath sheets on
And the clickclickclick of the coffee maker,
and the flashing light of its display as it turns on—
did you descale it yesterday?
I know you’d carry on
if I was gone,
but I’d like to think you’d do the small things
out of habit as if I was there.
I could watch you do anything and
the hair on the back of my neck would stand
then the chills shake through my spine
and time often stops as I simply watch you go about life.
I never thought life could be a primetime sitcom,
but I am now almost there.