the creeping light of spring is nice, but everything looks the same again. i hope you come home soon

• the sunlight before the sun sets, the hour preceding it more precisely
• how our pinkies slowly become entwined in the crevice between our thighs, pushed against each other in a bus seat while i half listen to you rambling
• your reluctance to get up
• constant asks about how far away my house was from the bus stop
• mid sixty degree weather, a month too early
• checking in the garage for a car that wasn’t there
• the light leaking into my empty house as we open the side door
• you took note of the medal hanging from my bookshelf, curious of what i had to be proud of
• slowly moving towards you laying in my bed, as you leaned in as much as you would let yourself

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