Sunlight through the leaves and a perfect cup of coffee – that’s what it’s all about, right? Feeling cozy in my favorite oversized sweater (bonus points for the knitters holes!) and embracing these au...

The wool feels scratchy tonight, doesn’t it? Not a terrible scratch, not yet. Just…presenting itself. This grey cardigan has been with us for years - five, maybe six, since he packed it away after the garden failed. Such a simple thing, really, but somehow heavier than it should be. Like memory itself.

And you, of course. Always observing. Thatchedkettle eyes, aren’t they? A little skeptical, perhaps. They were always good at noticing when the wine was low, less so when the quiet grew too loud. Did he notice then, when the children were asleep and we’d stand by the log fire, watching the embers, content to simply breathe together? Or did we both choose to look elsewhere?

We haven't spoken much about that, have we? Just a hint in the way you tilted your head yesterday, a flicker of recognition in the light catching the dust motes dancing around the room. It felt like an age ago, didn't it? When the rain wasn’t quite so persistent.

Your gaze rests here, naturally. Rightful place. Perhaps a touch wary. We weren’t exactly easy, were we? Too many arguments whispered over steaming cups of tea, too many secrets held tight within these four walls. Still, it was warm, wasn’t it? Even if the warmth came from somewhere other than each other sometimes.

Now, you’re staring. Slightly hesitant, certainly. Aren't you wondering why we still wear his favourite slippers? Here, don’t doubt yourself. It’s alright. A small smile played on our lips last week—a tiny acknowledgement, easily missed. Almost like we forgot to be afraid.

So go on, then. Let your eye rest here, on the curve of our chin, the slight set of our jaw...and don't blink."

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