The Shape Of Your Absence

It's raining the way it did that morning we stayed in bed too long, and I keep glancing at the door like you might walk through it shaking off your coat. The coffee tastes different when I make it for one. I didn't realize how much of my morning was actually just you.

I wonder if you felt it too today, that small pull somewhere behind your ribs that made you pause and not know why. That was me thinking about you in a grocery store aisle, holding two apples and picking the one you would have chosen. Missing you isn't loud. It's just this steady hum underneath everything I do.