I used to kiss "I love you" against your eyelids every night until you fell asleep, but still we knew there were gray spaces. Just like I know that if you stare at something long enough it begins to fade from view, like the picture lost to static on the T.V. screen in our first apartment. And I think now it's more than just the bills that are overdue. It's the sporadic heat of the furnace ticking into life for a few seconds before shutting down again. It's the lukewarm hum of a broken refrigerator and the stench of rot. It's the broken electrical sockets, the drafty windows, the water damage, but more than anything else, it's the way you still look at me like I'm the only one in the room. Even with everything we've been through.