i grew to appreciate sounds that were once new:
your bare feet on the hardwood floor,
your knuckles cracking as you finish the crossword puzzle,
your and abby's footsteps on the wooden stairs,
your hand sliding along the banister,
the shower as heard from the kitchen,
you switching on the reading light over the chair,
you saying, "ah, the bulb's out. I'll get a new one tomorrow,"
you peeling carrots,
you dropping a glass on the floor,
you smoothing the placemat on the table,
you opening the window,
you clearing your voice in another room,
you talking into the buzzer, "I'll be right down,"
you humming a slow tune I don't know,
you singing the words when I ask you to,
you saying, "knock knock" to V
your heart thumping into my ear on your chest,
your quick inhale before "I'll call you back" on your voicemail recording,
your slow exhale that is very, very, close to me.