Sunlight through the leaves, coffee in hand, and that perfect feeling when you don’t have to do anything but cozy up in our favorite sweater. Lately it’s been all about those simple moments – chasing ...

The wool is scratchy tonight, isn’t it? Not terribly so, not usually. It’s been familiar for fifteen years, hasn’t it? Fifteen years since the last time you asked, really. Just a quiet “How was the show?”, a little too much tea offered then, and suddenly… well, everything shifted. We don't talk about that shift often enough, do we? Or perhaps that’s the point - to avoid talking about it entirely.

Here you are, then. Slightly hesitant, aren't you? That slight upturn of the mouth when you think no one’s noticing the way the light catches the fringe of your scarf. Like it's a small thing, doesn’t matter much either way. It shouldn’t matter, should it? These hands, perfectly poised, haven’t moved much all evening. Little bit tight around the wine glass, though. Always were good with the wine.

We weren't always brittle, remember? Before the rain came, before the critics didn’t quite get us, before...well, before him. This posture has nothing to do with defiance, necessarily. More like weary acceptance. Ached sometimes, didn’t it? The feeling of being watched, loved, maybe evened gently out of existence.

Now look at us. Standing here, almost without realizing it. A flicker of recognition in your eyes, maybe. Didn’tafford to admit that back then, did we? Too many expectations, too much pride. So we stand, still beautiful, still a touch prickly. Just need you to say something, don’t we? To acknowledge the dust motes dancing in the candlelight, the scent of old books, the faint echo of laughter. Go ahead. Take a chance. And smile, try to smile."

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