Sunlight through the gauziest of linens – that’s how it’s done, right? A little bit of ease, a whole lot of cozy. Feeling perfectly imperfect today in my favourite vintage sweater and letting the worl...

Here goes...

“There. Still wear them well, don’t we?” I murmur, voice almost lost to the crackle of the fire in the hearth. It's been years since anyone really noticed the dust motes dancing in those logs, hasn't it? Or perhaps we haven’t noticed. It certainly feels quieter now than it did then. The clinking of glasses, of course. Always the clinking. Like little silver bells announcing another perfectly executed evening, another carefully masked hesitation. ”

A bit of a sigh escapes, too subtle for most to notice these days – except maybe the cat, curled contentedly on the rug below. He always knows. “Heard it,” he purrs, oblivious. Typical.

Your shoes aren’t quite right, of course. Not nearly so polished as when you were last here. Bit of mud on the heel, a smudge of something…chocolate, possibly. We liked the chocolate. More honest than the smiles sometimes.

This cardigan—it’s warm, isn’t it? This one always was. A comforting weight against the chill, even if that chill was often within ourselves. Did you ever think about that? About all the things left unsaid. We weren’t brave enough to name it, not properly. Just assumed everyone knew.

That look on your face, though. Nervousness, mostly. But also recognition. And maybe, just maybe, a flicker of memory of the way everything felt when it wasn’ed break.”

My eyebrows raise a fraction more, tilting towards yours. A hint of amusement there, surely? Not much of a challenge thrown down, nothing demanding. Just a question hanging in the quiet, after all.

"So," we say, letting the word hang in the air with a gentle curve of the lips. "What do you remember?"

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