He planted bulbs in October.

Knees in the dirt. Cold hands.

She texted me at 7 a.m.

Move your car. Street sweeping.

She made a playlist.

Not love songs.

He pours my drink first.

Always.

She doesn't file the movie stubs.

Doesn't frame them or save them in a box.

I always wore long sleeves.

Summer. Winter. Didn't matter.

His mother lives alone.

He worries every day.

He watches from the window when I leave.

I didn't know until Mrs. Chen told me.

I drive past his apartment sometimes.

Not on purpose. That's what I tell myself.

There was a nail hole in his bedroom wall.

Where a photo used to hang.

My alarm goes off at 6:15.

His should go off at 6:45.

After rain he always walks ahead.

Slightly. Just a step.