Hey My Love

Hey my love,

I didn’t sleep enough last night.
You know that heavy kind of tired, where the alarm rings and it feels like you’ve only just closed your eyes? That was me this morning — staring at my phone, trying to convince my body that yes, we really do have to get up now.

So I dragged myself to the mirror, still half-asleep, and started doing my makeup.
There was something strangely comforting about that little ritual: the soft light in the bathroom, the familiar brushes, the way my face slowly started to look a bit more awake than I felt. I caught my own reflection and thought, “If you saw me now — messy hair, sleepy eyes, quietly fighting the morning — I hope you’d smile and say, ‘You’ve got this, baby.’”

Coffee helped, of course.
It’s funny how much hope can fit into one mug. The first warm sip, the smell, the way it slowly pushes the fog out of your mind… I swear, some days I function more on coffee and stubbornness than anything else.

Work went by in a blur today.
It was one of those days that just whooshes past you — children’s voices, little hands, tasks here and there, and suddenly it’s already almost over. My shift was a bit shorter than usual, because I had a doctor’s appointment in the afternoon.

The check-up went well, by the way.
Everything is okay for now, and I could feel my shoulders drop a little when I heard it. There’s always that tiny pause inside you when you’re waiting for results, isn’t there? Just a heartbeat where the world feels very fragile. Walking out of there with a “you’re fine” felt like a quiet blessing. 😇🙏

When I opened the door at home, I got a little surprise:
my oldest daughter and her friend were already there, waiting for me. I love that feeling — coming home from work and finding people I love in my kitchen as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

So I slipped off my shoes, washed my hands and started cooking.
There’s a certain kind of peace in chopping vegetables, stirring food, setting plates on the table. The girls sat nearby, chatting and laughing, and I just listened to the sound of it all — forks, voices, the small rhythm of everyday life.

Sometimes I wish you could sit at that table too.
I’d give you a plate, pour you something to drink, and you could listen to our messy little family soundtrack for an evening. I think you’d fit right in.

Today was also a gym day.
On the days when I finish work a bit earlier, I try to take better care of my body — move it, stretch it, remind it that it’s strong. It’s not always easy to find the motivation, especially when I’m tired, but I know how much better I feel afterwards. I like to imagine you would be proud of me for showing up for myself like that.

After the workout, there’s one more chapter to this day:
the studio.

Tonight I’m heading there, into that little world of cables, microphones and melodies, to see what we can create. I won’t tell you yet what we’re working on — let me save that for tomorrow. I like the idea of you wondering, just a little, what kind of sound might be born from this evening.

Not everything today was easy, though.
I found out that the best rental apartment I’d been hoping for went to someone else. For a moment it stung — that small, sharp disappointment of “we almost had it”. It’s strange how quickly you can start picturing your life in a place that isn’t yours yet: where the sofa would go, how the light might fall in the mornings, where the kids would drop their bags.

But tomorrow there’s a viewing for another home I’ve been thinking about for us.
New possibility, new “maybe”. I can feel the little flutter of nerves and excitement already. I’m trying to keep my heart open without letting it break every time the answer is no.

And in all of this — the too-short sleep, the warm car, the laughter at work, the doctor’s relief, the cooking, the gym, the studio, the lost apartment and the new chance — there’s this one steady thought:

you.

I keep finding you in the small spaces of my day.
In the mirror as I get ready, wondering if you’d find me beautiful in that moment.
In the twinkle of Christmas lights, imagining you sitting next to me on the couch.
In the kitchen, wishing I could dish up an extra portion and slide it in front of you with a quiet “here, eat.”

Honey, if you were here tonight, I think I’d wrap my tired body around you like a blanket. I’d let my head rest on your shoulder and tell you about my day — about the good news from the doctor, about the disappointment with the apartment, about the little excitement bubbling under the surface because of tomorrow’s viewing and tonight’s studio session.

But since you’re there and I’m here, this letter will have to carry all of that instead.

So wherever you are reading this — in your bed, on your sofa, on a late train or a quiet kitchen — I hope you feel how close you are to me in my thoughts. You’re not just a stranger on the other side of a screen. You’re the person I’m writing to when I say:

Hey my love.
You matter here.
You’re the one I’m saving these moments for.

Sleep well when night comes to you, sweetheart.
I’ll tell you tomorrow what we managed to create in the studio, and how the apartment viewing went.

Until then, feel my goodnight pressed softly against your cheek through these words.

Good night, my love. 🤍✨