Golden hour glow and city sighs... Feeling particularly cozy today wearing my favorite chunky knit – it’s all about those simple pleasures, right? A little bit of rain outside doesn't hurt either! Jus...

Here we go again, then. The wool feels scratchy tonight – not terribly so, nothing to complain about really, though sometimes…sometimes itches just so. Like memory does, doesn’t it? A little irritating, mostly pleasant if you don't dwell too much. This cashmere shawl, for instance, perfectly comfortable, a familiar warmth against the chill. It was Thomas’ mother’s, of course. Always had to be something of his, didn't there? Even when he wasn't here.

And here you are. Looking back, naturally. Not staring, not exactly. More... hesitant. Like last time, almost. That smallness of the mouth, remember? After the argument, after the quiet agreement that things were fine, but weren’t, not truly. We haven’t spoken properly since. It's been five years, hasn’t it? Five years of ghosts and carefully placed silences.

This gaze of yours – curious, certainly. Maybe a touch wary. Good. Let them be. We shouldn’t need permission to simply sit here, draped in velvet and slight resentment. Remembered laughter used to bubble up easily enough, hadn't it? Before the rain came, all those summers ago.

Your hair’s longer than we remembered – a bit unruly, actually. Didn’ed notice that until recently. Probably should have. You look younger, somehow, more hopeful. As if the chance of seeing us together isn’’t entirely bleak. Which, perhaps, it isn't.

A flicker of recognition in your eyes, maybe? Just a flicker. Did you see the way the light caught the dust motes dancing off the wine glass last night? We barely noticed ourselves.

Let’s not push too hard. Not yet. Relax your shoulders. Don’t seem quite so surprised by the slightly aloof smile. And relax yourself – you always did find us rather beautiful, even when we weren’t trying.

Now, breathe with us. Feel the scent of woodsmoke drifting in through the open window...and the lingering trace of him.”

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