you worry about the color of the curtains
you worry about the composition of cutlery we eat our food with
you worry about the softness of toilet paper we use

I sit and stare into the distance
I sit and listen to the wind
the wind speaks of your name
the wind tells me stories about the day you made me realize i needed glasses
the same day we stayed up all night with the pillows in the tub

i never got glasses
you see,
i still can’t see that shade of cream
that color of your skin

you worry about me not recognizing you in the distance
you worry about the crows’ kowwws

I stare away,
and i can’t shake away that some moment of unshakable sadness.

And you already know
Yet you already know
How this will end