Steam writes ghosts against the glass, a name half-erased by morning. The cup is chipped the same way we were used, familiar, still warm. You sit where the heater hums, laughing for no reason at all, and I memorize your hands like they’re a language I might forget. Light spills in, careless and kind, dust rising as if it knows how to dance. Time pauses there not because it’s dramatic, but because it doesn’t need to rush. Memory never comes whole. It breaks itself into sweetness: grains of us clinging to a spoon, dissolving slowly in coffee. One sip and I am returned not to the past, but to how it felt to be seen. Years blink. Colors thin. But the echo stays honest. Nothing edits the way my heart learned you. Nothing reframes your outline in my mind. There’s always music we get wrong, lyrics bent into laughter. You take my jacket like it’s obvious, call me ridiculous with affection. You draw cities on tired paper and say endings are just doors pretending to close. Some days the plot escapes me. All I have left is the view: your crooked smile, your quiet bravery, the way light kept choosing you even when you didn’t notice. If this is all I’m allowed to keep these small, stubborn moments then it’s enough. It has always been enough. Because nothing changes how I felt. Nothing changes how I see you.
Comments are disabled on this song