I remembered waking at 2am, the winds rattling the window pane, lightning casting shadows of angry trees fighting their roots against the door — one of the two that separated you from me because I wanted a good night's sleep before work. Because you snore and the puppy whines. But the thunder crashed like the desperate fear in me some days when you leave and I wonder how I would feel if that was the last time I saw you. I was in the shower when you left for work — no kiss goodbye. It's just rain. Just leaves falling. Just tornado warnings through the night, the clock on the oven flashing the wrong time, and neither of us resetting it.