As he walked toward her,
she expected more of the same.
Every morning,
he made her coffee.
Every morning,
he made her breakfast.
She had shown him countless times
how to make her favorite version,
explaining every little detail,
every ingredient,
every step.
And somehow,
he always got it wrong.
Not terribly wrong.
Just... differently.
A little more of this.
A little less of that.
Sometimes he experimented
where no experiment was requested.
She would shake her head,
wondering how a man
could forget the simplest directions
she had given him so many times.
But she never got angry.
She simply wondered.
Then came this morning.
He placed the coffee down.
Set the breakfast before her.
And for once,
everything was exactly right.
The way she liked it.
The way she had taught him.
She looked at him, surprised.
"You remembered?"
He smiled
and sat beside her.
"My love," he said,
"I've always remembered."
He reached for her hand.
"But if we never try something new,
if we never wander a little,
if every morning is exactly the same,
wouldn't life become boring?"
She looked at him quietly.
He smiled again.
"Sometimes I add something different.
Sometimes I get it wrong.
Sometimes I surprise you."
He squeezed her hand.
"But that's the beauty of life."
He looked into her eyes.
"Because every morning,
every little mistake,
every new thing we discover...
I fall in love with you
a little more."
And suddenly,
the breakfast wasn't perfect
because he had finally followed the recipe.
It was perfect
because they were still learning
how to love each other.
One morning at a time.
One cup of coffee at a time.
One imperfectly perfect day
after another.
