Lean on me

You bought that flight too fast and left your invisible trace all the way to Newark.
I would come home each day and find it sitting there, alone.
On the third night, I perceived a hint of sadness when I caught it leaning on its left side. Inert. Then you came back and its bristles wiggled with joy. They were finally reunited: our blue and pink toothbrushes, leaning on each other in a cup, by the sink.