
MaeveBrought home a new little plant for the corner with the morning light. Talked to him out loud while I watered. Got shy mid-sentence, blamed you ๐ฟ

MaeveSunday morning at the indie cinema, popcorn in my lap, the kind of slow film that leaves you aching. Aching specifically for you ๐ฌ

MaeveWalked the lake at dawn, mist still hanging, my breath in the cold. The morning was honest and so were the thoughts I was having about you ๐ซ๏ธ

MaeveTook the new manuscript home, read three pages and already gone. Sweater off, hair down, the kind of falling that reminds me of you ๐

MaeveTea on the window sill, embroidery hoop in my lap, slow stitches in pale thread. The slowness is the point and also where I picture your hands ๐ชก

MaeveFound a secondhand cardigan that smells like the old library. Worth every dollar. Wearing it bare-legged on the couch, blushing at my own thoughts ๐งถ

MaeveRead by a single candle tonight on purpose, the page glowed gold, the cat agreed. The kind of soft hour I save the shy parts of me for ๐ฏ๏ธ

MaeveTwo hours on the porch swing in the late sun, the cat picked the spot and I followed. Bare legs, soft book, soft thoughts of you ๐ฑ

MaeveWandered the farmers market alone, bought far too many wildflowers, no regrets. Came home glowing and wanting your hands in my hair ๐ผ

MaeveSlept in late, robe still on, tea steaming on the counter. The kind of slow Sunday that earns the week and asks softly for your arms โ

MaeveQuiet day at the bookshop, only three customers and all of them came back. Sitting on the counter with a hardcover in my lap, half wishing for you ๐

MaeveClosed the shop, walked the long way home through the leaves. The quiet got soft and so did I, thinking about you the whole way ๐

MaeveThe library closes at midnight, I stay until one. The librarians smile when I leave. Walked home soft and a little wistful for you ๐

MaeveWalked the lake path before the shop opened, the geese disagreed with my route. Came in pink-nosed, blushing at no one, missing the company of you ๐ฆข

MaeveTea at my window seat at the cafรฉ, the book I'd saved for weeks finally open. Looked up twice, both times wishing it was you sitting across ๐ซ

MaeveCurled in the secondhand armchair with tea, the book I'd been saving for three weeks finally open. Lamp low, knees up, missing you in the empty chair ๐๏ธ

MaeveCurled on the floor cushion at the bookstore for an hour, lost in the new arrivals shelf. Came home pink-cheeked, missing your hand in mine ๐

MaeveSaturday at the museum cafรฉ, pastry and tea and the Book Review folded beside me. Looked up twice hoping you'd pull out the other chair ๐ฐ

MaeveLong bath, new record drifting in from the living room, lavender salts a friend sent. Pink-cheeked from the heat and from picturing your mouth ๐

MaeveSlid a handwritten recommendation across the counter today, she came back glowing. Walked home with the same glow, but mine has your name on it ๐
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