the roommate

For all the ones who've loved me enough to leave a light on, crack a door open, take the farther side of the bed...

It was late when I came to bed. 

We were tired from our travels, but you

always fall asleep sooner than I. 

The door was cracked half-open.

You don’t sleep well with light around

and so the door was your

“goodnight, I love you” to me.

I shut the door, although I fear the dark.

My irises widened, trying

to flood the foveas with sparse waves

and I felt my way around the unfamiliar room as one blind,

wondering which side of the bed was mine,

because I knew, though I couldn’t see,

that you were on the other side,

whichever side was other.

I was not afraid, because

you were in the darkness.

I knew it because

I could feel you there, your familiar safe presence.

The darkness wasn’t empty.

I knew it even though your breath was soft,

too soft to hear.

I knew it because

you know my fears, the demons you can’t cast out.

And you bound them 

when you cracked the door open,

a spell without words:

“I know that you're coming to bed,
and I know you’re afraid of the dark,

so know that I'm here. 

Goodnight.”