i sip my morning coffee, ordered the same way every day. it’s familiar taste has never been more comforting. it’s weird how that can work sometimes. that the small taste of your usual feels like home, when your home isn’t your home yet. when you’ve just packed up all of your life into cardboard boxes. the new life you built for yourself is divided up into a dozen packages sleeping on your newliving room floor. sleeping on a mattress with no sheets and a new smell in the air. new noises, new floors. your entire apartment, into a room, all of your things staring you in the face. so many changes, so many stresses. the last two weeks have been so long and she hasn’t been here for any of it. your lives moving one million miles an hour, 300 miles apart, making your stagnant relationship seem to be falling behind because one minute you’re in love and talking on the phone in bed until you fall asleep, and the next minute your bed is in a new house and you haven’t heard her voice in days, or seen her face, or touched her in weeks, and everything feels different and the only thing that can save you, right now, right this second, is this fucking cold cup of coffee in your mouth and down your throat, and you feel the sting in your stomach, and for that second, everything is okay, everything is familiar, and everything will get better.