in the way I think of you. And see that in that exact moment, you were doing the same.

Does it always happen like this? Or is it chance?
Do you know the moments my fingers hover over the keys, the pause, the breath I take before turning away, forgetting?
Trying to forget.

Do you know I still think of you when it snows, when I make breakfast and look out the glass window to the yard?
This is my home here. Thick trees with knotted roots, frost sleeping in the grass.

I wonder, if love could be telepathic.
If you know that I’m missing your touch on my skin.

But like me, you remember for only a second.
Then you try to forget.