I saw the blue umbrella you left and arranged it by the door so you’ll find it.

I’m holding my phone and wanting to tell you that I’m better after your texts.

I noticed your pen on the table and waited a minute before moving it.

I’m on my lunch break and I’m choosing to text you instead of scrolling.

I walked past the bench where we argued and felt glad I could call you after.

I put a note under your cereal box that just says come later.

I keep a crumb of your biscuit in my pocket as a ridiculous souvenir.

I told the barista your order by habit and felt foolish and fond immediately.

I grabbed an extra napkin because you always spill when you laugh.

Your name popped up in a song and I grinned so hard a stranger looked.

I want to be honest: I’m distracted by you and it’s getting me through the afternoon.

I walked past the bakery and bought the pastry you said you liked.

I’m thinking about how you bite your pen and it makes me smile at my desk.

I kept the receipt from the bookstore you loved so I could remember the title.

I’m saving a seat for you at the cafe at one, come if you can.

I folded your T-shirt and it smelled faintly of you—made my break better.

Your left mug has the chip; I still use it because it’s yours.

I want to say plainly: I like you more than I expected to today.

You hummed the chorus this morning and I’ve had it stuck in my head all day.

I missed the bus but I don’t mind because I had time to think of you.

I keep finding reasons to walk past your building on my lunch.

I’m craving your messy pancakes, not because they’re perfect but because they’re yours.

I felt the sun through the blinds and wanted to tell you the light hit your photo.

I want to tell you something small: your pen is in my pocket.

I bought the extra cookie because I knew you’d say yes if I offered it.

My phone buzzed and I hoped it was you—then I smiled anyway.

I keep replaying the joke you told this morning and it still makes me laugh.

You left one sock on the floor; I’ll put it on your bed when I get there.

I’m looking at the clock and counting the minutes until you text back.

I miss the way your jacket smells on the chair at noon.

I’m halfway through my salad and wishing you were here to taste the dressing.

My office coffee tastes dull; thinking of your black mug makes it better.

Lunch break and I keep checking my phone for a photo of your sandwich.

I stole the last fry from your plate and I’m grinning about it at my desk.

I overheard our song at the café and had to step outside to breathe because I missed you.

The bus was late; I used that extra time to imagine you walking up, tired and smiling.

I'm sending this from the park bench where I wanted you beside me.

Half my salad ended up on my shirt and I thought: you'll make this fun.

I folded the napkin the way you do and it made me miss your crooked smile.

I glanced at our photo on the fridge and laughed out loud in the kitchen.