I Search For You.

I search for you, everywhere.

In the song that was playing on the radio that night on the cusp of winter, when I came back from a month of working in the gutter of society. I told you about the flowers of the scholar's tree and you sang.

In the old faded yellow cotton sheets I can't bring myself to throw away because they feel like your arms wrapped around me. I saw a picture of your ex wife on them once, I couldn't believe how old those sheets are, but I still can't​ throw them away.

In the fresh grounds of coffee that I leave on the kitchen counter after I'm done pouring you a cup in the morning dew. Every day I plan on using the new steel percolator and everyday I don't, because it burns my fingers, it's a stupid product that makes no sense.

In your freshly ironed trousers with their perfect creases that you fuss about every time I send the pants out for ironing. I've told the guy at least thirty times to be careful with the creases, he thinks I'm the insane and fussy one.

In the dusty racks of pins and belts and medals that you never use but would be mortified to lose. I should really clean there but the dust is very becoming, it's like a little bit of earth on your beautiful things.

In my dirty canvas shoes that you find adorable because the ink spots on them don't match. They're not supposed to match, that should drive you crazy, it amazes me that it doesn't.

In the bottle of cologne that makes me want to gag but you won't stop using anyway. I like the smell of people, you know, and that cologne it smells of strange things that lack substance.

In the dirty and dusty balcony that grows filthier everyday under the weight of your promise to clean it, it's hard to be out there but when that dirt washes away you'll see something you wouldn't believe existed under there.

In the bottle of brick red nailpolish that makes you smile as you inspect my nails to make sure I didn't miss a spot. I'm the girl who misses spots but you make me want to be the girl who doesn't; eventually it doesn't matter if I miss a spot or not, as long as you keep inspecting my nails.

I search for you, everywhere.

But I find you on quiet rainy nights, and in the darkness.

In the dull throb between my legs.

I find you in silence when I finally stop searching.

You're written all over me.