How one knows...

How does one know anything. One guesses. One hopes.
But there are signs, for the vigilant.
When one can't sleep, because one's feet are cold with sorrow in a parting.
When one sprinkles his scent in the next room because its easier to pretend he just stepped out.
Hesitating to wash a pillowcase for the smell it holds.
Finding a single sock, and it makes one smile instead of curse.
Buying the things he likes for dinner as a first impulse.
Gleaning the silver from the day's clouds to offer the sparkling.
Restlessness when the urge to taste and touch is thwarted.
Losing a scrap of paper with a number makes one tear apart one's drawers looking for it.
Even if one says the opposite aloud, it rings hollow. Unconvincing.
When five months is a twinkling, but two weeks drag like lenten fasting.
I miss him.