the soap by the sink is coconut and sea salt. you wash your hands. it’s her kitchen—you see her favorite tea but everything else means nothing to you; parts of her you don’t recognize. crumbs left behind by others that have stepped into her life while you took an unknown path.

she mixes your tea with cream and honey. she knows your heart but there are times you are sure you’ve missed hers by an inch or two. she doesn’t mind as she stirs and teases your tongue. you watch her—and she is here with you. your hands are clean but hers honey covered.

you miss her. she sits opposite of you—but you miss her.