Recently, the shadows have started to stretch their bodies at noon. I’m wearing two pairs of ski socks and my feet are still cold. I’ve moved your blue armchair by the radiator.  

This will be a long winter. 

Did you know that our mattress still offers up the curve of your shoulder, the press of your heels? I haven’t washed your pillowcase, and some nights I press my cheek into it. Even now, I will not steal your covers. 

Sometimes, I clutch our doorknob for far too long. 

If letters folded into bridges, we could meet on some slip of an island, honeycombed and sun-slicked. I’ve been thinking about my packing list. I’d bring a suitcase of snorkels and tulips. I’d be more skin than clothes. 

Yes, I’d say yes.