Coordinates

I know your coffee order

and the exact angle of sunlight

that makes you squint.

I know which side of the bed

is yours even in a hotel.

I know your silences—

the comfortable ones,

the worried ones,

the kind where you're writing a whole speech in your head

that you'll summarize as *nothing, I'm fine*.

This is love:

not the grand gesture

but the accumulation of coordinates,

until I could find you

anywhere.