I never knew that I could find so much beauty in such little things.

Like the sound of our bathroom door squeaking as you sneak inside, well after you should have been in bed.

Like the way the pillows smelt after you fell asleep with your hair wet, saturated and crumpled on the bed.

Like the wet, slick razor left on the side of the sink, because you know your stubble hurts my skin.

Like the beep of the fridge telling you you're taking too long to decide whether to have juice or chocolate milk. You always choose chocolate milk.

I never realised how much those little sounds meant to me, until it fell silent.

I never realised how much those smells comforted me, until they were replaced with others' cheap cologne and cigarettes.

I never realised how much those little traces of you left around the house could keep you with me all day, until they became the only means of having you near me.