I think about the way I love and how I put my love into you. I stared right into you - you were looking past me, into some great beyond.
I was building a home in you, while you stood with your back to me as you made us eggs and coffee. You kept your hand on my thigh as you quietly stirred cream into your porcelain mug, leaving me the thick and murky leftovers from your French press. Look but don’t touch, I wonder if you’d been told that as a child because you only looked me in the eyes if I was flat beneath the weight of you...feeling your touch all over me.

I think I forgot to mention that I’ve got a good spine because I forgot I even had one when I was with you. I still think about how it would feel with you here, in all my seasons. My curious hands would still hold onto you and I’d still find a reason to build something bigger, no matter how much better things could be. You could have found me at the edge of the water, wishing on skipping rocks like we did in February. But you didn’t look back when you packed up and left before the leaves turned gold.