On the other side of the door
it is probably raining.
The window nearby proves me right,
fogged by the soft humidity that often accompanies weather like this.
I bend to tie my running shoes anyway,
ready for the hills & the breathlessness
that will soon catch me off guard.
When I reach for the doorknob
& hear you move in the next room,
back early from your own run,
I pause too long in the cold rush of air.
On the other side of that bathroom door,
it is probably colder.
I imagine you turn the water as hot as it will go,
so the steam that fills the air
catches on the mirror
not unlike a foggy window.
it is probably raining.
The window nearby proves me right,
fogged by the soft humidity that often accompanies weather like this.
I bend to tie my running shoes anyway,
ready for the hills & the breathlessness
that will soon catch me off guard.
When I reach for the doorknob
& hear you move in the next room,
back early from your own run,
I pause too long in the cold rush of air.
On the other side of that bathroom door,
it is probably colder.
I imagine you turn the water as hot as it will go,
so the steam that fills the air
catches on the mirror
not unlike a foggy window.
