You’d Be So Nice To Come Home To
You are awake.
Every day when I return around 6, you seem to follow the same routine. I see you in your kitchen, apron on, making dinner at the same time I am. I know you’re listening to music, so am I, because of the way you are swaying to the rhythm. It almost feels like you’re waiting for me, because without fail, you are always there when I come home. I know exactly when, and where, and what you will be doing. After the kitchen, we both move to the living room to watch TV. Around 11, both of our lights click off. The distance is too far to know if our eyes have ever actually met.
Are you alone, too? It’s cold. It rains every day. I see you at home a lot. Is it to escape the misery outside? As I write this, rain is slowly veiling both our windows, but I can still make out your silhouette. Are you lonely? Do you crave connection?
What is this human connection we seek, anyway? Is it the silent acknowledgment that someone else is out there, moving through their day alongside you, in parallel? Both of us unknowingly becoming part of each other’s lives? This ambient intimacy, without touch, without conversation…I wonder about your life: what you’re listening to, what you’re making for dinner, what you’re watching, what you’re thinking. Who you are.
Will you be here tomorrow? I am leaving tonight.
Best,
The girl who lives across from you