It snowed today. I made our hot chocolate just like I always do whenever it snows—rich with chocolate and topped with swirls of whipped cream. I made a cup for you and a cup for me.
I carried them to the bow window, where we always sat, watching the world soften under winter’s hush. The snowflakes danced, drifting and twirling in the wind, just as they always did. Just as we always did—together.
I wrapped my hands around the warmth of my cup, breathing in the familiar scent. Yours sat beside me, untouched, the whipped cream melting into the dark swirl beneath it.
A cup for you and a cup for me.
But you are not there.
And yet, in the hush of falling snow, in the warmth of the cup beside me, in the quiet ache that
fills the space you left behind—somehow, you are.