No really, I'm okay. I'm also a great liar.

snowdrops and warm milk: the life i've carved for myself and my love

One thing I hadn't known I needed was a completely new place. Writing can be hard, especially when there's nothing to write about. I have my home, my writing place. But I needed something different, with new smells and new colors.

Our apartment is not too far away from a train station, meaning on the days I have off I can ride around and just soak in my surroundings. Riding on trains is relaxing for me, watching the landscapes slip by and blend into each other. Having a compartment all to myself (accompanied occasionally by my lovely girlfriend herself) with my backpack, which is filled with all the supplies I'll need for my adventures: whatever book I'm currently reading, my notebook, a pen, a Ziploc bag of Oreos, a little pouch of cash, my phone, some earbuds, and about fourteen hair ties.

Usually when there's a lull in my writing inspirations, I phone my mother, or Rose. I don't get to talk to them too often, so it's a convenient time to catch up with them.

And then I get out and walk around whatever city catches my eye at a stop, usually stopping at a coffee shop for fuel and staying there. Then I'll explore the roads and take pictures if opportunities present themselves.

Then I get back and we'll cook dinner and maybe watch a movie, go for a walk, or just cuddle and make out. (The last time we did that, Annabelle fell off the couch. I hadn't stopped laughing for ten minutes.)

And though I am happy with my job, I want to write. I don't care if I make a career out of it or not, if i make a living or not. But writing's always been one of my greatest passions, and I want to have it in my life.

I come home and Annabelle's crouching over something on the balcony. When I approach her, still with my backpack on, she looks up at me, squinting her eyes.

"Hi Haze," she says, then plants a kiss on the skin above my knee, the highest place she can reach.

"Um ... what're you doin'?"

"Planting snowdrops," she replies promptly.

"Er... isn't it a bit late for that? It'll get cold, won't it?"

"Nah." Annabelle waves a hand a bit too forcefully, causing her to wobble on her feet and grab onto my calf to steady herself. "We can bring it inside."

"Is there a particular reason you decided to plant snowdrops?"

She's finally steadied herself, and she springs to her feet, dusting her jeans off and ruffling her hair. "Well, not really. Just thought it'd be nice to have more living things here."

"Speaking of which," I begin when we get back inside, "do you wanna adopt a cat?"

Annabelle puts the kettle on the stove and sits on the counter, eyebrows furrowed slightly.

"Sure."

I blink. My parents never wanted pets, so I'd never gotten past that question. I don't know what to do from here.

"You think we could take care of a cat? This is big. This is another living creature we'd be completely responsible for, whose life would be in our hands."

Annabelle rolls her eyes lazily. "I know. We'd be good cat parents. Trust me."

"Well, we have to go out shopping for cat things, then."

"Okay. Just not right now."

It's my turn to roll my eyes. "I know we'd not be doing it right now! We have to go to a shelter, and see if any click with us, then go out and buy all the things, then —"

"Hey," Annabelle says, catching my arms, which I hadn't realized had started to flail around. That happens sometimes when I get worked up. "Hey, we'll do it when we're ready. Okay?"

I just nod, biting my lip. I get flustered easily about these types of things.

She doesn't buy that I've calmed down and wraps her arms tightly around my waist, in that way she does that makes me feel like she'll never let go.

I feel kind of pathetic about getting so worried so quickly, but whatever. It doesn't matter now.

The kettle whistles, and Annabelle removes herself from around me to pour two mugs of boiling water. She fills the infuser with green tea and sets it back on the counter.

"So ..." she hums, pulling me against her chest and resting her head atop mine, "where should we put the snowdrops?"

"Bathroom."

She pokes me in the side of my stomach. "Serious."

"I was being serious!" I protest, leaning back and looking into her eyes. "Like, on the windowsill or on the little table. They'd look nice."

"Hmm ..."

I grab the infuser. The tea's steeped a little more that I usually drink it, but we deal, we deal.

Later that night, Annabelle goes out for a walk. She takes forever — I don't know what route she takes but it's surely longer than mine. I decide to take a bath.

I do love our bathroom. It's open, with a freestanding tub kind of in the middle and a shower in the corner and white walls.

I usually play music when I take a bath, and today is not an exception. I play Pretty. Odd. and play with the bubbles and debate falling asleep because I'm so tired and warm but then remember that I could drown and that wouldn't be a nice thing for Annabelle to come home to.

My fingers are well and pruned by the time I finally step out and engulf myself in a fluffy towel. I slip on some underwear and a shirt that could be mine or Annabelle's; at this point neither of us really have clothes of our own.

I pad into the kitchen, the tiles cold against my bare feet. I put a pot of milk on the stove. The clock's green lines read 10:02. Annabelle's almost always home by 10:30.

I get out two mugs and leave one out for her when I finally stir in the honey, vanilla, and cinnamon.

I'm just reading with the fan on and the curtains open to see the sunrise in the morning when she comes in, mug in hand.

I smile at her, and she smiles back, and then she goes into the bathroom to brush her teeth.

She comes back out with her hair in a bun and her pajamas on, and then slips in beside me.

What a pleasant life I've chosen to carve out of my corner of the world.

a/n: i'm currently drinking warm milk with honey, vanilla, and cinnamon and it is wonderful so i thought i'd incorporate it