candles are lit

lamps are warm

fire is on

floor is swept

table is set

wine is poured

I left my AirPods in Tasmania. As far as I know, they’re either chilling by the Little Blue Lake, swimming with the platypi in the Ringarooma River, or, most likely, wedged between the bed and the century-old wall of a small hotel room in Winnaleah. 

I first discovered the AirPods were missing after my sister and I had driven two and a half hours southeast to our next destination—there was no going back. Within minutes of checking every bag and pocket for the little white case, I messaged the hotel owners and begged them to search for them.  Sadly, there was no luck finding them, not yet anyway. Over the course of our holiday, sporadic hours were spent browsing online earphone sales, but I never bought a new pair. There was still the possibility that they’d turn up in the post. But it felt strange without them. I don’t have them constantly attached to my ears, but I do use them while walking the dog, going to the gym, or, when I can’t be bothered with a screen or a book and would rather listen to music in bed. 

Everything I do accommodates two 

From the coffee I pour in the morning 

To the seven extra mugs in my drawer 

To the spare camping chair 

Tucked in the footwell beneath the door 

And the extra van keys