She asked if we were okay back in March. I read it by the kettle and decided I'd answer when I had the words.
I've lived in this apartment four years, but at two in the morning it still feels borrowed, like somewhere I'm only staying.
Almost three, you've taken the whole blanket again, and I'm lying in the warm part of the dark listening to you breathe.
I found my phone from six years ago in a drawer and plugged it in just to see if it would wake up.