Phobia poem; still working on it!

Phobic

I came across your careful list of fears this morning:
a fear of snow, of ugliness. A fear of waves. Meticulous
and private, I read them quietly though you were out.

I saw something of myself in the list, which went on for longer
than I thought there were words for fear. I re-imagined
your unwillingness to approach the sea, your dislike
of my jumpers, the problem of dancing.

Perhaps the fear is of fear itself, I thought, perhaps
tomatoes have nothing to do with it – but still I took it upon myself
to uncover my tracks in your list. One by one, day by day
I found your list again, changed all your fears
to philia; a small task in handwriting terms.

I was slow and careful; if you noticed, you never said a word.
I watched from the bed each morning, from by your side
every night, for the smallest change in you. You got quieter,
perhaps, but nothing more. There was no sudden shift of outlook.

I sought out your careful list of loves this morning:
a love of small spaces, of blushing. A love of novelty.
I do not know who you are any more, or what this means for me.