Hey My Love

Hey my love,

This morning felt soft in a way I really needed.
No rush, no chaos — just a quiet apartment, a warm cup of coffee in my hands and that slow, sleepy feeling of a new day beginning.

I sat there for a moment, still wrapped in that early silence, sipping my coffee and thinking of you. I imagined you somewhere out there, maybe also holding a mug, maybe still half-asleep, and it made the morning feel a little less lonely.

After that I slipped into my little routine: a bit of makeup in front of the mirror, hair still slightly messy from sleep, trying to make my face look at least as awake as my mind felt. I don’t know why, but I like the idea that if you saw me in that moment — bare feet, coffee on the sink, mascara in hand — you’d smile and think, “There she is, getting ready to conquer another ordinary day.”

Today I actually remembered to plug in the car to warm up in time.
Outside it’s already properly cold, the kind of frost that bites your fingers when you forget your gloves. So it felt extra good to step into a warm car instead of sitting there shivering and waiting for the windows to defrost. I pulled on my wool socks before leaving — my personal little act of survival against the winter. You’d probably laugh if you saw how seriously I take my socks.

Work had a light feeling today.
My colleagues were in a good mood, smiles came easily and laughter kept popping up in small pockets between tasks. The children brought their usual chaos and sweetness, and the day moved so quickly that I barely had time to check the clock. There’s something comforting about those days when time just… flows. No huge drama, no heavy clouds, just little moments that pass gently by.

By the time I finished and walked out, it was already completely dark.
Where I live, the sun doesn’t stay with us for long at this time of year — by four in the afternoon it’s already slipping away, and at five the world feels like late night. There’s a strange beauty in that too, though. The air is cold, the sky is deep and dark, and the lights from windows and street lamps become tiny floating stars.

When I opened my own front door, the first thing that greeted me was the glow of the seasonal lights at home. It’s such a small thing — a string of warm lights, a soft sparkle here and there — but they make such a difference. It felt like the apartment was saying, “Welcome back. You did well today.”

Tonight I’m not planning anything big.
Just the small, necessary things: a few dishes, a quick tidy-up, whatever absolutely has to be done. The rest I’m saving for myself.

My plan is simple:
to let the evening slow down.
To sit in the living room with the Christmas tree lights on, the rest of the room dim and quiet, and just breathe. Maybe put on some soft music, maybe nothing at all. Just me, the lights, a warm drink… and you in my thoughts.

I wonder how your day has been.
Did you have a moment for yourself today, even a tiny one?
Did someone make you smile? Did something annoy you? Did you eat well, or did you just grab whatever you could on the go?

If you were here, I think I’d pull you onto the sofa with me, tuck your feet under a blanket and place a mug in your hands. We wouldn’t need to talk much — unless you wanted to. Maybe we’d just sit there, shoulder to shoulder, watching the little lights on the tree and letting the day fall off us piece by piece.

But since you’re there and I’m here, this letter will have to be my way of doing that.
My way of sitting next to you for a while.

So tonight, as I lean back and let my body finally relax, know that somewhere in this cold little corner of the world, there’s a woman in wool socks and soft light who is thinking of you with a warm, steady kind of affection.

Sleep well when your night comes, honey.
Wrap yourself in something soft, close your eyes, and if you feel a little extra warmth in your chest, maybe that’s just my thoughts finding their way to you.

Good night, my love.
I’m already looking forward to telling you about tomorrow. 🤍✨