Sorry

I drive home, tired, with an empty seat next to me.
I imagine you, with your straight spine in it.
In your slim frame, with your badly cut hair (by me)
and you wonder-filled eyes.
In the 20 minutes of silence, I think of 20 things to say to you.
But by the time I get you on the phone,
I can never remember what they are.
Vaguely, they were about growing old, loving life and my humanity.
9 months in, and my mind is still wiped clean when I hear you on the phone.
Your voice is the only frequency I look for in my daily noise.
I fall asleep at night in your shirts,
Dreaming of the time that our worlds will fuse into one.