Coffee and Longing

There are days when the distance between where I am and where I ache to be feels impossibly wide.

On those days I choose small rituals instead.

Fresh coffee.
Soft wool.
A quiet morning.
Hands busy enough to keep sorrow from settling too deeply.

Perhaps this is how we survive—not by outrunning longing, but by weaving tenderness through it until the heart can bear the waiting.