Did You Defrost the Chicken

he's asleep next to me and i've never felt further from a person in my life.

it's not a fight. that's the part i can't explain to anyone. we don't fight. he kissed me goodnight, set his alarm for 6:40 like every night, and was gone in four minutes the way he always is. i've been lying here since, listening to him breathe, doing the arithmetic.

i reread our texts from two years ago tonight. not to be sad about it. just to check. the way we used to talk — three paragraphs about nothing, the typing bubble going forever. now it's logistics. did you defrost the chicken. running late. k. i scrolled up looking for the turn, the day it changed, and there isn't one. it just thinned out so slowly neither of us noticed the water going cold.

i could wake him. i know the exact words that would make him pull me in, and i'd feel better for an hour. that's the thing keeping me up. i'm pretty sure i could still get the warm version of this back tonight if i asked for it. i lay here listening to him breathe and noticed i hadn't reached over.