I am alone in my kitchen, an empty coffee cup in my hand, when a part of myself I had gotten separated from found its way back home. I'm distracted, having forgotten if I was there to fill my cup or put it away. My thoughts are little silvery breaths of air on a clear and sharp winter's day, and they drift peacefully around my head, unsure of what form to take. The part of myself places a warm hand on mine and I look up. She fills my cup for me, wordlessly.
I got lost, I tell her. I'm sorry, I say. I'm sorry. She tells me gently that I have nothing to apologize for, and for the first time, I believe it. I'm afraid, I tell her. Shhh, she says, as she wraps me in her arms which are also my arms. What if I want poetry? I ask her, Symphonies, blossoms, fine wine?
Over the harbour, the clouds begin to break.