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.