Bedroom. Pillow. Clock. Bedsheets.

I roll over to find I can no longer tell the difference between your head and the pillow, my heartbeat and the ticking of the clock.

Kitchen. Coffee. Table. Mug.

I look down to find my hands have melded to this cup, and the backs of your legs have been welded to that chair.

I just remembered I forgot, there used to be movement here.

Movement then, stillness now. Difference there, nothing here.