8:13 am

I'm sitting at the kitchen table, trying to extract as much warmth as I can from the hot cup of tea in my hands, and I can't think about anything, except her.

I hold the cup to my face, breathing in the steam, and I can smell the bread toasting under the grill. I imagine her walking through the door and I smile. She's still in her night dress, and she can't really open her eyes yet. She is beautiful. She stands by the stove and holds her hands over the teapot.

-I think I miss this most of all, she says, looking at me and at the kitchen table. -I miss the smell of bread toasting in the oven every morning, and having a nice pot of hot tea ready for me when I wake up, and having someone warm to cuddle after breakfast. That is what I miss most of all.

-Do you really miss things like that? I ask her.

-Of course I do, I miss everything like that. I miss all the little things we did, every morning, and every evening, all the little ways you showed me you loved me.

-Did you know that I loved you? Because I loved you more than I could ever tell you, I really hope you knew that. More than anything in the world, I hope you knew I loved you.

-I hope I knew it too, she replies.

I'm sitting at the kitchen table, trying to finish the toast that I don't really feel like having anymore, and it's a beautiful day.