It’s morning in our kitchen and the dappled fall light is dancing through the trees and onto the counters and the sink, and the kettle.
You’re in another room now, but before that we were telling each other how we’re scared about the future, and stressed about the present, and not coping as well as we wished.
But right now, the kettle is ready and our house is warm and comfortable and shining in this way.
In the other room you’re typing, and in here I’m writing this because the angle of the light and the smell of fresh morning coffee while everything is fall and beautiful let me feel just how much I love you. Which is an immeasurable amount.
When the world is good, I love you.
When the world is shit, I love you.
When things are easy, it’s easy to love you and when things are difficult, it’s still easy to love you.
When I was young and alone, and had so much less to fight for, I wished for you. And I know, because you told me, that you wished for me too.
Maybe we are ruined, and maybe everything we know and love is coming to an end. But today there is fresh coffee and the soft, bright taste of sourdough toast with butter. And the light is too wonderful and the house too warm to get lost in despair.
I love you,