The dust in
this fridge and
the lack of
eggs on shelves,
of sunlight
through window blinds,
of
whiteness on bathroom tiles.
Wisps of
hairs on stairs.
I do not recognize
the color nor the shape of these curls.
The
blankets on your bed.
crumpled
and creased
permeated
by the
sweaty
smell of your sleep.
Socks in
corners.
Socks on
your floor.
‘Please buy a wardrobe.
Like normal people.’
We decided
not to fight about trivial matters
And so we
wake up silently.
Where are
you?
I ask and
you stare
at my forehead
'I came unprepared' you say
Please, tell me
you care.
I convince
myself you cannot express this,
There must
lie a truth
behind the
signs.
There must
be more under this
meaningless
surface.
The weak
grip
of our hearts and hands.
I try to
love your voice and
the sound
of your words.
The way you
move.
I want to
bend your back,
rearrange your
eyebrows and
your
furniture.
I want to
decide on what you eat.
You will
not let me
drive your
car when it’s dark.
I sing
hoarsely to traffic lights
on the way
home.
My eyes
adjust to kitchen lamps
the cups of
the tea we drank.
Cannot fill
up this dishwasher.
I rinse the
signs of our togetherness
with water.
