My bathroom is strangely empty without the cat litter, bags of cat food and other cat accoutrements.
My lap is strangely empty as well, the room eerily quiet without the thunderous galloping of weirdo orange cat playing fetch.
I guess that's a sign that I should vacuum now.
The appartment smells of mimosas, a great gift and yet a poor trade for the warmth of the only body that's been pressed close to mine for longer than brief but brilliant hugs, but somehow...
I remember wishing I would see them one day, remember every suffocated breath when I yearned to roam, yearned to travel far enough to see them firsthand, to learn the lessons that scent evoked in me.
I barely understood them then, the half-formed questions, the elusive meaning behind their heavy sweetness.
There is a bouquet of brilliant yellow mimosas on my kitchen table, thick with perfume, and they are not green or white or purple but the brilliant yellow of my tea-bowls and the sunshine that has found it's way into my heart since then.
Nearly a year ago, so many wishes.
So many of them have been granted. So many of them refined, turned into glowing dreams and chasing stars.
So many of them thanks to you, and so many, many of them thanks to him.
You've taught me so much, baby.
Thank you. For bringing peace unto mine heart.
Such gifts...
I have seen a mimosa, and have understood this tender love.