It has been a month since you left.
Things for me didn’t change.
Your keys are still on the coffee table
The ring won’t move from the desk.

But in the garden, our garden, there is something strange.
I keep watering the bushes, I swear.
But those plants, they miss you
Yes! They miss you

They miss the way you sang to them
They miss your delicate touch
They miss your cheerful laughter and your warm smile
The silly dance you made every once in a while

Or your eyes
your tender, bright eyes.
These plants, they miss you.
Not I.