The language of love

“Did you ring about the electricity bill?” / “I’ll have dinner ready for when you get home” / “Remember to pick up some teabags on your way” / “Shall I turn the heating on before I go?” / “What’s our council tax reference number?” / “We’ve ran out of milk again”

Is this it? Ordinariness. Don’t tell me you haven’t thought it, too. Has the spark gone? The fireworks faded into the same white ceiling the two of us lie beneath each night. Is our love doomed to become a shopping list, a mortgage rate comparison website, an argument over who left the unwashed towels in a pile on the bathroom floor?

Someone once told me “You should never go to bed angry”, but still we do, / you at one side of the bed, and me at the other / Stubbornness keeps us apart, but sleep marries our bodies to one another / Where do you end and I begin? / I don’t know / It’s at these times when my dreams check in to the Heartbreak Hotel: a world without you. / I’ve watched your death countless times, heard you tell me “It’s over” a few more, reeled from the sight of your limbs intertwined with someone else’s / These scenarios jolt me awake, searching for your heartbeat in the darkness, your hand, your breath.

“Good morning” / “I hate leaving you in bed in the mornings” / “How’s your day going?” / “This reminded me of you” / “I miss you” / “What time will you be home?”