All things come to this:
Over thinking.

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

delicate?

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.