A short note from a quiet winter morning. Coffee on the sill, frost on the glass.

Nothing urgent—only the small warmth of remembering you.

The light came back through the curtains earlier than I expected. I thought of you before I thought of coffee.

Spring does that—moves the hours without asking.

The light came back through the curtains earlier than I expected. I thought of you before I thought of coffee.

Spring does that—moves the hours without asking.

The light came back through the curtains earlier than I expected. I thought of you before I thought of coffee.

Spring does that—moves the hours without asking.

The light came back through the curtains earlier than I expected. I thought of you before I thought of coffee.

Spring does that—moves the hours without asking.