I am here in my apartment on a Tuesday night,  
three minutes shy of the next day.  
There is beans slow cooking on timer, a Netflix show on serial killers on my TV, 
 and the windows are wide open,  
dizzying my ears with sounds of vehicles passing on I5.  
 
I am thinking of you.  
There is so much happening around me,  
so much for me to do, and yet a part of my brain,  
has become a brain of its own. Its spinning fantasies about you,  
about us and our life together, 
 the house, the kids, our laughter,  
you waking up in your pajamas  
and me spooning you and calling you back to bed.  
 
And almost subconsciously,  
it ventures into these dreams,  
while I am wide awake.  
Something happened while I was cooking,  
stirring the broth with the laddle,  
in circles.  
 
The fear of you leaving me gripped me hard.  
The more I stirred, the more real the pain felt,  
until I saw it, in front of my eyes-  
me without you.  
Like a flower drooping from its shoulder.  
Like a shadow among the living.  
I would go to work, come back,  
cook, watch TV, go to sleep, and repeat.  
I could see the sadness in me, 
 but no tears.  
Some anger, some hatred,  
but all very subdued, 
 very subliminal.