almost exactly like not lying on your back, staring at the ceiling for two hours;
almost exactly like not dropping your arm out of bed, running your fingertips across the soft carpet for one;
almost exactly like not padding softly down stairs at two in the morning,
to let your forehead rest against the cold table – staring into the tight wooden grain;
almost exactly like not hearing the birds sing you to life at dawn – unsticking your brow from the hard wood.
almost exactly like staring at her lightly closed eyes, listening to the shallow breathing for two hours;
almost exactly like dropping your arm lightly around her waist, running your fingertips across the soft hair of her neck for one;
almost exactly like padding quietly to the toilet at two in the morning,
to sneak back on tiptoes, slide under the duvet and rest your head lightly against hers;
almost exactly like hearing the drip, drip, drip of your life starting again – almost exactly like love.