I miss the way you nodded when I talked about nothing in particular.

I keep thinking of the soft apology you gave when you burned the toast.

I miss your elbow on the armrest when we shared a narrow couch.

I remember you whispering the wrong lyrics and insisting they were better that way.

I miss your shoes by the door; seeing them empty still pulls at me.

I keep replaying your voice saying my name the night I drove too far.

I miss how you would press the doorbell twice when you were impatient.

I still hear your laugh when the toast burns and we start over.

I remember the baseball cap you wore backward the summer we painted the fence.

I miss the tiny dents on your favorite spoon from years of stirring.

I remember you stealing the blanket the first week we lived together.

I keep the paper train ticket because your clumsy signature made me grin.

I miss the way you folded the corner of every page before bed.

I feel warm thinking of the small jokes only we find funny.

Remember the chipped mug you insisted fit your palm better than any other cup?

I miss your hand fiddling with the radio knob when the signal cut out.

I feel proud telling my sister about the time you fixed the heater.

I promise to answer the door at midnight when you come home from work.

I will carry your heavy bag up stairs without making it a thing.

I feel a simple joy when your playlist starts and I know your mood.

I want to be the one who packs your lunch when mornings are rushed.

I notice your penmanship and the way you cross your t's; it feels familiar.

I like that you reheat coffee twice and still drink it, stubborn and human.

I want to learn to fix that squeaky door hinge you always ignore.

I notice the way you tighten your shoelaces and think about small rituals.

I want to sit with you in silence and have it be enough.

I love that your jacket smells faintly of rain even after weeks.

I feel grateful when you check my hand in a crowded room.

I like you when you're impatient and tapping your foot—it's honest.

I will pick the slower lane in traffic if it means we talk longer.

I notice the tiny scar on your knuckle and it makes me protective.

I want to wake up and make coffee for you even on Saturdays.

I love that you steal fries from my plate and I never stop you.

Your chipped mug on the top shelf makes the kitchen feel like ours.

I am relieved knowing you'll be there for the dentist appointment I dread.

I saved the receipt from the butcher because you picked the good cut.

I appreciate how you dry the coffee ring from the table without asking.

I want to be the one you tell the dumb details to at midnight.

I noticed your shoelaces were untied and I tied them for you.

I keep replaying your “okay” in my head and it comforts me.