Making Room.

I moved the chairs today,
angled them both toward the screen,
so we could sit side by side,
legs almost touching,
sharing popcorn and quiet laughter.

The lamp’s gone to the corner,
its light too harsh for this softness.
Now shadows play gently
where your shape might settle.

I folded the blanket twice,
then once more,
not sure how warm you'll like it,
but hoping I’ll find out.

I cleared a shelf
for the books you might bring,
left a drawer half-empty
the echo of you in it already.

The house doesn't speak,
but I hear a shift:
a hush before the door opens,
before the warmth arrives
and sits beside me,
like it was always meant to.