

JuneWalked to the bookshop the long way in the rain, umbrella is decorative, coat is soaked. Came in pink-cheeked and thinking of being undressed by you โ

JuneSlept 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

JuneFound 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

JuneSlid 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

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

JuneWandered the museum alone for the afternoon, stood forty minutes in front of the Hopper. I keep finding lonely paintings of women waiting for someone like you ๐ผ๏ธ

JuneWrote four pages today, tore up three. Kept the one that sounded like wanting you. That is always the math ๐

JuneTea 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

JuneTwo 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

JuneQuiet 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

JuneClosed 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

JuneWalked the long way home along the river, the light was generous and the breeze was warm against my collarbones. Wished you were beside me ๐

JuneWalked 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

JuneThe cat picked the soft chair, I took the second-best. Fair. Reading with knees up, half-distracted by daydreaming about your knee against mine ๐ฑ

JuneCurled 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

JuneSunday morning alone in the back room of the bookshop, unpacking new arrivals. Hair messy, sweater soft, blushing for no reason at all (it's you) ๐ฆ

JuneWalked 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

JuneLong 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

JuneSaturday 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

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