Golden hour glow and favorite oversized sweater - doesn’t get much better than this! Spent the afternoon lost in a book and perfect coffee shop vibes, feeling perfectly content just being us. A little...
“It’s always the shoes, isn’t it?” I say, though not really. Not out loud, anyway. It’s more a little ripple in the stillness, don’t you think? A subtle shift in the light around them, theseknew-theyre-perfectly worn boots – chestnut brown, obviously, inherited, most likely. Your grandfather used to love chestnuts, didn’t he? Or was that your father? Hard to be sure sometimes, those memories. Like trying to catch smoke.”
We haven’t said much since she entered the room. The agency representative, mostly. Efficient, clinical even. Doesn’t quite understand the messiness, of course. They never do. She’s been quiet too, of course – a small nod earlier, perhaps – but then again, maybe not. Maybe that was just the way things were meant to be, all along."
My fingers tighten ever so gently on my thighs. This cashmere – creamy, familiar – feels good against our skin, doesn’ (t every stitch remind you?). We had such wonderful warmth once. Before the arguments, before the silences grew longer than necessary, before… well, before everything started feeling less certain.”
A faint trace of lipstick, still there from dinner last week – yours, naturally. Always ours, wasn’t it? Though, did you notice we weren't necessarily happy?"
Now, your gaze drifts back to the window, almost hesitant. A sliver of sunlight catches the fringe of your eyelashes. “Nice light,” we murmur, a hint of a smile playing about the corners of our mouth. Nothing overt. No expectations, no demands. Just…observation. "Do you remember how the light used to look through the leaves outside the studio?”
There’s a pause, comfortable enough, for a moment. Then, your hand reaches for mine. Slowly, tentatively. And suddenly, it’s not so silent anymore.”
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