In my astronomy class we’re learning about light and how through infrared technology you can see the warmth of someone in a seat they long ago stood up from. I find it really wonderful how much of you is left behind, like your body heat and your scent and the mold of your head in a pillow. Even your voice, which is present in the silence after you’ve stopped speaking.
Weird how the absence of something is something itself - the space where you slept is the absence of you, and when the moon is stenciled through lazy-lidded blinds, pouring rays of milky light onto the bed, I see the absence of your once drenched skin.
overheard in the hallway, from a mother to a child: “you need to stop picking up broken glass up off the ground just because it’s pretty.”