Small things

People always say it will go like this: you stay up until the wee hours of the night, hurting; you will probably wake up at three in the morning with the sudden urge to just scream into your pillow; or grab a tub of ice cream, wait for the pizza to be delivered and start the first few minutes of Before Sunset only to realize you have memorized the film by heart.

But sometimes, it's somewhere between nine or ten in a Sunday morning and you're standing by the sink waiting for the boiling water to make your tea to ease last night's hang-over;  the neighbor's children starting to play outside; and the smell of dusty metropolitan sunlight and the earl grey tea makes you think of him, and the sudden realization that you could be preparing hot water for two, while he is waiting in your bed, in your old shirt; and that makes you like him more so much you don't know what to do with the cup in your hands.

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