Before you,
rest was quiet.

Now it sounds like small breathing beside me.

Sometimes I still unfold the bed in the afternoon and read for ten minutes before you wake up.

The apartment feels different now.

Softer in some ways.
Smaller in others.

I notice things I never noticed before.

The warmth you leave behind on fabric.

How quickly an afternoon disappears.

How much space someone so small can take up.

I used to spend afternoons reading for hours.

Now I read a few pages,
listen for a sound from the other room,
and wonder who you will become.

Some days it feels like you're changing overnight.

Other days I wish time would slow down a little.

For now, there is still room for the two of us here.

And tonight,
that feels like enough.