mik

coming home from work with you sitting on the couch, watching a show, the dogs napping on the floor. “there’s a plate on the counter for you,” because of course you made me a plate before you cleaned up a meal intended only for you. except it wasn’t soley intended for you, you knew i probably wouldn’t have eaten already.

mornings that consist of routine. me getting out of bed faster to let the dogs out, feed the critters, start to make coffee, while you stumble around still half asleep with a tooth brush in your mouth.

quiet evenings in while we read, drink wine, or plan our future

poking my head into where you’re at to let you know your music is just a little loud and i’m trying to study, and both of us apologizing to the other for disturbing each other

hearing the front door close when i sit out in the backyard with the dogs soaking up sun. “i thought id find you out here” and s gentle kiss on the head

you realizing how much noise i actually make, how my steps sound walking around the house, living habits that don’t necessarily bother you, but are new to you.

letting you do my humira injections because even after all this time i still can’t bring myself to do it.

the cats cuddling up to you during a sunday nap and getting a little too close to your face and now your nose is stuffy

quiet rhythm of cleaning the house, folding laundry, making a meal.

coming home to little just because gifts “i saw it at the store,”

sticky notes littering the apartment

photos of us on the mantel