Sunlight through the leaves and that perfect autumn glow… Feeling like this all day - cozy but ready for anything! A little bit of golden hour magic here at home, curled up with a book and our favorit...

The wool feels scratchy tonight, doesn't it? Not unpleasant, not entirely - mostly just…familiar. Like a well worn coat that knows all your creases and hasn't quite minded them for years. This one’s been ours, hasn’t it? For so many winters, though maybe not our winter anymore. It was certainly his mother's favorite – she loved the shade of grey, said it suited him.

We haven’t spoken much since last week, really. Justed nodded when he asked about the cat, a little too quick to smile when he mentioned her garden being particularly lovely this year. Like everything should be, shouldn't it? But the way it felt...less than perfect. Less than expected. Which isn’t to say it wasn’t good, necessarily. More like we forgot to speak about that.

And now here you are. Standing there, by the window, cigarette smoke curling around your perfectly tousled hair – same chaos as always, only with fewer arguments lately. A hint of doubt in those eyes, aren’t there? Or perhaps just curiosity. We used to get that often enough.

This gaze of yours, then. Not demanding, not exactly. Maybe a touchting—like you remember when things were easy. When the silence hadn't started feeling so vast sometimes.

It’s funny, isn’so it? How easily we could lose ourselves back in each other’s light. Almost lost it already, didn’t we? So, look closer. Doesn’t matter if you see the traces of wine still clinging to the glass, or the dust motes dancing in the low evening sun. Just don’t blink.”

Now, tell us – what do you think we’re thinking?

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