Sunlight through the leaves, coffee cup in hand – that’s what it’s all about, right? Feeling cozy and contented today wearing my favorite oversized knit (and not fighting to wrangle the hair!). Little...

“Well, you made it then,” I say, my voice quieter than we thought it would be. Not exactly welcoming, not quite hesitant either. More like...expectant. Like there used to be more expectation. For years, hasn’t there? Seems longer for them than for us. These boots certainly know about the walking. A little worn around the heel, these ones, but comfortable. That’s important, isn’t it? Comfort, even if it’s a familiar comfort born of a certain kind of ease.

You’re staring, naturally. It was always a bit of a performance, wasn’t it? To notice when we were actually paying attention, which wasn’t often enough. Just shifted shoulders, maybeed the hair back behind the ear – subtle gestures, easily missed unless you were looking. You look like you might be thinking he did something wrong, all those years ago. Or perhaps you think we both did.

This scarf—your mother knitted it, didn’t she? Always a touch too much wool, a hint of lavender scenting everything, whether it needed it or not. Such a comforting mess. Feels warm against the chill today, despite the drizzle. We haven'ed felt that warmth in so long.

That frown line between your brows – remember that one? When he said ‘not enough’. Well, we weren't feeling it, were we? And here comes the rain again, doesn't matter really, does it? This light feels good, though. Softens the edges. Maybe you should ask us to stay. "Just until dusk," you could say."

We tilt our head everso slightly, don’t move, no need to break the quiet. Too much has already been broken, hasn't it? Let's see if you dare to speak up.”

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