You took the call so I could finish dinner and I appreciated it.

I’m cheered by the way you call me by that silly nickname.

I like that you asked how I slept this morning instead of assuming.

You pausing to listen to my rant felt like an actual gift.

I kept your joke in my head all afternoon and it made me grin.

You fixed my bike chain and I’ve been thinking about your hands.

I noticed you cleaned the coffee tray and it made the morning easier.

I’m thinking of you and how tired you are, and I want to help.

I felt softer knowing you took the trash out without being asked.

I woke smiling because I remembered you humming the song last night.

I like how you always remember to warm the mug before pouring.

I’m glad you took the extra half hour to nap; you needed it.

You handled the call with Dad and I noticed how calm you were.

I keep thinking about how steady your hand was at the dentist today.

I’m practicing my best sulky face; come home and decide if it’s convincing.

I hid the TV remote; negotiation skills will be required for retrieval.

I will loudly serenade the cat unless you come home and make it stop.

I’ve rehearsed a ridiculous excuse to get you out of boring Zooms — you in?

I want to trace the seam of your jeans and see if you'll shiver.

Leave the light on upstairs and I'll find reasons to climb the stairs slowly.

Every coffee I make tastes like the idea of your mouth on mine.

I want to press our foreheads together and promise nothing except to keep kissing.

I like the bruise from your backpack strap on your shoulder—it's an invitation.

I keep imagining tracing the freckle just below your collarbone with my thumb.

Every time my phone buzzes I hope it's you saying you'll come home early.

Honest: I want to hear about your day before I do anything else tonight.

I used your phrase in a meeting and people laughed; I credited you silently.

I miss how you stomp your feet when you're cold; weirdly comforting.

Seeing your name in my notifications still makes me look up from my phone.

I burned the toast this morning and still wanted to share it with you.

You corrected my pronunciation and I replayed your voice in my head.

I couldn't sleep and counted instead how many messages you sent last week.

I found the napkin you doodled on; I'm keeping your messy handwriting.

I wore the bracelet you gave me and felt steadier during a meeting.

Leftover pizza tastes like you when I heat it, and that's a good thing.

You made the commute better by sending that terrible joke at 8:12.

I keep your sticky note on the fridge; it makes the grocery list friendlier.

Your socks are in my laundry basket; don't ask how they got there.

I forgot to water your succulent again and I feel a bit guilty.

My phone autocorrected your name to 'home' and I almost deleted it.