Habit. 

We used to live together. 

You and I. 

Our lives intertwined and weaved with all the things we liked. Everyday occurances  became rituals. Freshening up. Shaving. Showering. Eating. Cooking. Checking the fridge. Writing notes. Making the bed. Working. Calling on the phone. Coming home. We were so many things yet only one. 

What changed? 

Maybe that’s the problem. 

Nothing changed. 

We did not grow together. We grew apart. I thought we were always going to be like each other’s favourite diehard habit. Habits don’t change. Not really. 

So the sun kept shining, and I kept going.  Freshening up. Shaving. Showering. Eating. Cooking. Checking the fridge. Writing notes. Making the bed. Working. Calling on the phone. 

But you did not come home.

All that is left 

Behind –

A lingering stale scent 

Of who you used to be 

From the skin you shed piled up at the door. 

– 

I just took up the broom and swept it under the carpet. Prepared dinner and waited 

Waited 

Waited 

Waited for you

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