Windows

After you left, I'd always forget to buy milk when I ran out.

Now I just drink my coffee black.

I take showers instead of baths.

It's faster now.

I forget my keys too often.

I had to hide one under the front step.

The other day I was hit by the door of the subway.

It left me with a bruised hipbone.

This morning I jumped in a pile of clothes fresh from the drier.

It still wasn't as powerful as your warmth.

I didn't feel like cooking last night.

I ate a whole meal of celery.

I sleep with the fan on.

I wake up freezing every morning.

I've accepted that the street lights shine brighter than the stars.

It makes the sky seem even darker than it used to be.

I fall asleep in the middle of the bed,

But somehow always end up on the left side.

I keep forgetting to close the windows.

Now, it's always cold in my room.