Delicious Sunday mornings begin with coffee,
its warmth curling through my hands
while my thoughts wander.
From work,
to errands,
and, as they always seem to,
to her.
I wonder what she's doing.
Perhaps she's curled up on the couch,
lost in the pages of a good book,
smiling at a line only she understands.
I take another sip,
and somehow the weight of the week
melts quietly into the steam.
The future remains unwritten,
and for once,
that feels exciting.
Every beautiful idea
starts as a whisper.
My eyes find her again.
Another sip.
My mind drifts back
to the day we met.
I remember the scent of the air,
the messages that stretched late into the night,
the plans we dreamed aloud
before they had a chance to become memories.
A quiet smile escapes me.
"How fortunate I am"
I told the universe
I'm ready to love again.
It answered with
not with fireworks,
but with something far rarer.
It answered
with her beautiful soul.
