I was just getting water

I was just getting water.

That's the whole truth of it.

The hallway was dark,

the kitchen was dark,

I came back through

and the phone was already in my hand—

not a decision,

just the hand moving

through three screens before

the eyes had focused.

Two weeks.

I'm not going to call it clean

because that implies something dirtier

than this is.

But two weeks.

And then the kitchen,

the dark,

the glass of water I set down

and forgot about.

The thumb knows where it goes.

That's what scares me—

not the wanting,

just the route.

How worn in it is.