I can't picture us in Santa Monica
With our little apartment and our bikes that you bought for us
And a **** on the table, and TIME magazine.


I can't see your travels displayed in our hallway
next to the pictures I never took
the sheets on our bed neater on one side than the other.


I can see a world without you as my friend,
all gray and distorted,
and I don't smile as much but work is hard...


But I can't see us watching a movie together
your hand on my arm
making circles with your fingers and my skin electric.