Tonight, I saw a couple,
sitting  on the bus.  

They were holding hands
and looking at each other
in that way
that couples do.  

Looking at them...

you could just tell.

Afterwards, I saw
another couple on the train.

She sat sideways next to him,
her legs over his.  
They talked in low voices,
stealing little kisses from each other
during the pauses
in their whispers.

Looking at them...

you could just tell.

And I wonder
when you sit next to me,
your hand entwined in mine,
drinking your tea
and looking out the window

if someone were to
see MY face in that moment...

could they just tell?

He
was a construction worker,
always smelled like outside,
sawdust, fresh air.

I
used to love to hug him
right after work
so I could just
smell him.

His hands
would dwarf my head
as he reached down
to hug me to him.

He would punch you
and it would feel
as though his hand
had gone entirely
through you.

He was a big man,
worked hard all day.

He
had arms
like small trees

I began making myself a coffee and
I started to make one for you too

but you weren't there.

I set the two cups down, side by side, and added the sugar
-two teaspoons, just the way you like it-
and then I remembered  

you weren't there.

The moment before that, I'd been having
a little conversation with you
in my head.

You know,
the way you do when the person isn't there?

Perhaps thats why I did it.

Or perhaps,
I just so enjoy always having my cup of coffee with you that,
when you aren't there,
I still want to feel that closeness,
that roundness and completeness I feel when I'm with you,
sipping sweet, flavoured coffee
and helping our conversation meander along.

But you weren't there.

So, I poured the sugar from your cup back into the bowl
and finished making my one, seemingly lonely coffee.

And then I texted you
to let you know what I had done
and to ask you a question ;

"Does doing that mean I love you?"

but I already knew the answer,

didn't I.