Hours before I woke this morning, while I was still blind in my bed, undisturbed, you must have thrown back the blanket from a bed that did not have me in it. I would like to think you stood naked in front of the window, protected from sight by the early hour, no mirage. But this month is too cold for standing naked; your arms would have prickled into gooseflesh, and there would have been no time, no need, to pause before filling the bathroom with steam.