He leaves a note on the kitchen counter, with a request that I pick up a few “essentials“ on my way home from work.  And I think I am possibly the only person on earth whose shopping list consists of Fudgee-O cookies, lube, charcoal pencils, and Spam. 

He leaves the cap off the toothpaste, every single day.  And I replace it.  Every single day.

He leaves a trail of wet footprints from the shower to the closet, where he sneaks up behind me and presses his warm, dripping body against mine.  And I squirm from his grip and grumble and push him away, but I don’t try to hide the grin on my face.

He leaves a message on my voicemail explaining that the accident wasn’t serious and the corvette only has a slight dent on the left rear fender.  And I close my eyes and exhale a breath and thank the god I really don’t believe in that he’s all right.  And then I start plotting to collect the cost of the damages from him… in trade. 

He leaves a magazine on the desk, opened to an ad promoting the latest in yuppie handheld electronics, and a page of scribbled notes containing marketing ideas and graphics enhancements.  And I think that when he graduates, he’s going to have the world at his feet.

He leaves the battered metal door half-open as he hurries off to his shift at the diner, tossing a “Later” over his shoulder as he brushes past me.  And I stand in the middle of the room and watch him go.

He leaves me breathless and amazed. 

And I take the stairs two at a time and catch him as he’s heading out the lobby door.  I grab him by the shoulder and push him against the wall and crush my body against his.  My lips seek out the slender column of his neck, the tender flesh of his earlobe, the pliant warmth of his mouth.  I feel him arch into my touch as my hands find his hair and I whisper… whisper… all the things I should have said a long time ago.