I realize now that he loves me
as one might love a fixed object in their home.
Habitually.
I am
the worn out Welcome mat,
always greeting his return
as he wipes his muddied boots across me
day after day.
I am
a painted door knob.
In an effort to make his home or life feel new,
I was coated in paint, but
after countless twist and turns,
my paint job is starting to chip.
I am
the carpet that he has walked a path into.
My plush fibers forever imprinted
with his footsteps
as he makes his habitual journey
from the door to the bedroom to the shower.
I am,
to him,
only a fixture.
A habit.
While he,
to me,
is the light filtering through my windows;
the wind that tugs through my hair.
And even when that light
is too harsh for me to look at
and even on the days when the wind
tears at the shingles of my home,
I love them,
I Welcome him, still,
To come and
To stay.
