Golden hour glow and fuzzy feeling - that’s what it’s all about! Today was spent lost in our favorite city, wrapped up in this amazing knit (and maybe a little bit of autumn magic). Feeling like we fo...

The woollen shawl is scratchy tonight, isn’t it? Not that we don’t love it – more that we’ve loved it for so long, sometimes itches a little too much. Like memory itself, really. A comforting itch, but an itchy one nonetheless. Specifically, this grey. It always felt a bit…muted when he was around, didn't it? Almost as if the world had been slowly fading into shades of smoke after the rain.

And then there were the silences. Usually good ones, those, weren't they? Just enough space between the words, letting everything else drift through—the scent of woodsmoke, the faintest echo of laughter. Or maybe not so much space. Maybe we were both afraid to fill it, terrified of admitting whichness to each other.

Here you are, then. Standing there, stiffly handsome in your own way, a hint of curiosity in your eyes, perhaps. Did you bring coffee? We haven’t tasted coffee since... well, since then, hasn't there been any doubt about that for years?

That slight turn of the mouth, yours. A question almost. “Is she still wearing her father’s cufflinks?” Probably. She always does. Alwaysed them, really. A small comfort, these familiar details.

It feels like ages ago, doesn’t it? This stillness. Like it could be happening now, or twenty years past. The tea should be readying, anyway. Just look at us, standing here, a little hesitant, a little hopeful. Don’t stare quite so intently, though. That can be unsettling. Just breathe. And smile. If you dare.”

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