There are things you may not expect to miss.
The swish of her hand brushing along the plasterboard
The heavy air of the bathroom after his shower
The warmth left in the bed as she gets dressed
The drift of coffee upon the air down the hallway
The rumble and rush of her hair against the brush, echoing
The silence in the car as he walks away, waving
The creak of a chair as she adjusts herself
The crackle of stubble as he scratches his chin
The smell of onion and garlic when you come through the door
The salt and oil of his torso upon worn clothes
The stale wine in the bottom of a glass
The buzz of a message against your thigh
The powdery cleanness of towels washed in someone else's detergent
The leftovers from a meal he made you, savoured amongst oblivious coworkers
The hairs upon the counter, amber when held against the sun
The subdued spray of water in the sink through the wall
The groan of her leather jacket in the cold air
The perfume he said he liked
The breath of yesterday's flower bouquet in your car, lingering
The clink of his belt opening, then closing
Her body and stale perfume imbued in the pillow - indescribable
His footsteps outside the door, manoeuvring at the gate - inimitable
Exhalation
Movement
A voice
A presence
Absence of silence, of oneself only