Sunlight through the leaves, coffee cup in hand – that’s pretty much how it’s been for us lately. Feeling cozy and content in this oversized sweater and our favorite vintage boots. A little bit of qui...

The wool feels scratchy tonight, doesn't it? Not that scratchy – not yet. It used to be so comfortable, this cardigan, almost familiar, like an old favourite sweater worn for years. Like… well, maybe like us. Now, there’s just the slight prickle, the awareness of the fibres against skin after all these years. And the scent – faintly of rain and woodsmoke, though perhaps that’s just the memory clinging on.

You haven’t said much, have we? Just settled into that armchair with that particular stillness of yours - one hand resting lightly on the armrest, as if expecting us to shift, but not quite sure which way. A subtle tightening around the mouth when the cat brushed past earlier, didn’t you notice? Nothing dramatic, nothing that shouldn't have been. We always were good at keeping things quiet, weren't we? For the most part.

Except, sometimes...sometimes you look back. That was then, wasn't it? The light caught the dust motes dancing off your hair, silver in the evening sun. And your eyes, those hazel eyes, so often narrowed in amusement. Or frustration. Difficulties to pin down, aren', they were.

We did argue about the garden, remember? Your father hated the roses too much. Said they needed pruning, more than they liked. Maybe that’s why you left. Not really because of the roses, of course. Probably something deeper than that.

Now, you’re staring. Not quite judging, certainly not hostile. More like a hesitant curiosity. As if you don’t entirely understand why we returned, or even if we actually wanted to.

So, go ahead. Take another look. At the sleeves of this cardigan, rumpled by our hands over countless nights. At the curve of our lips, hinting at smiles hidden beneath decades of guardedness. Just don't blink. This time, let's stay still."

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