the kettle whistles on the stove,
steam dancing in the morning light,
your laugh echoes through the kitchen,
warmth spreads like honey through my chest;
i watch you stir sugar clockwise,
the same way your mother taught you,
these small rituals anchor us,
like roots finding rich soil;
sunlight paints golden squares,
across our wooden table,
where we plan weekend adventures,
and share dreams over toast;
the newspaper crinkles between us,
but our eyes keep meeting,
finding stories more interesting,
than any headline could offer;
this ordinary tuesday morning,
becomes a masterpiece of moments,
where happiness tastes like tea,
and love sounds like quiet laughter.
