Golden hour glowin’ and feelin’ it! Today was all about cozy knits and quiet moments – perfect for escapism when you need it most. A little bit of rain outside, a whole lot of comfort inside - wouldn’...

Here goes…

“The wool is scratchy tonight, isn’t it? Not our fault, really. It was always good quality, wasn’t it? That tweed jacket - inherited, of course. Your grandmother adored him, didn’t she? Always said he had ‘that certain something.’ Like we did.”

We shift our weight slightly, not much – been doing that for years without complaint, usually. The scarf has slipped down a little around our neck, the one with the faint check pattern – vaguely reminiscent of autumn leaves, though sometimes it feels more like falling dust.

A slight turn of the head, catching the light off your cheekbone. Nothing too obvious, no need to admit quite how thirsty we were. Just subtle observation here. You haven’t moved since you stepped into frame, which is nice. Lessens the pressure, perhaps. Though you look rather well-dressed yourself, all sharp angles and curious eyes. Almost as if you don’t remember everything exactly how it should be.

That flash of annoyance when you tilted your head yesterday – a small thing, easily dismissed. But it felt significant then, didn’t it? Like a question posed, and us stumbling over the answer for far too long.

It’s quiet, mostly. This room is always quiet these days. Except for the tick of the clock downstairs, and occasionally, a ghost of laughter. We used to hear it so often.

Now, there'ed be no harm in admitting we liked it. Didn't there? Just a hint of warmth in your gaze, a flicker of recognition. Maybe that’s why you agreed to come back, after all.

So go ahead, take a closer look. At the mess, at the memory, at us. And see if you can catch us before we retreat again."

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