One of my favorite times with you was the Saturday morning you surprised me with coffee before work. You told me you had heard of this really great place and even though I had no idea how significant a well-crafted latte would become to me, I was excited to be chauffeured to the office with a quick stop for caffeinated goodness on the way.
"What if I didn't work on Saturdays?" I mused as we walked back to the car. I don't think you responded.
And so the morning drive continued without incident, you dropped me off right before the Farmer's Market vendors started unloading their trucks, preparing for the day's activities.
A few months later, I got Saturdays off and we both worked Monday through Friday like "normal" adults do. This isn't super significant, except to say the surprise coffee trip only happened once. And maybe it should have happened more, or maybe the novelty of it made it matter most to my aching yet hopeful heart.
And I am still trying to process these feelings and hurts and choices, but when is it enough?
I dreamed about you last night, so I figured this was the most appropriate form of response.