Yes, please do. There are still no curtains on the windows, but everything else is ready for you. You could come by some morning when I'm still bleary-eyed enough that I don't mind you seeing the dishes in the sink. I'll make us both some coffee (or tea, if you prefer). You will have to try a spoonful of our raw honey from out west in your drink, it truly is amazing.
The sunlight will be streaming in through the windows and steam will rise from our mugs (you can have the one with a daisy on it... or maybe my owl mug). We can sit in the warmth from the sun and our drinks while we talk. And we will talk. About our lives, about books and music and other things we love, about people we adore, about how our hearts have been broken and healed. We will maybe cry... and then we will laugh out of the simple joy of sitting in a warm kitchen in the morning together.
We will eat. Yes, of course. There are dark chocolate covered almonds in the cabinet and there is ice cream in the freezer. We could make toast with butter and jam... and I'm sure there's a box of brownie mix hidden somewhere. We can sing while we bake. Very loudly. And laugh more.
Oh, and then we'll make more coffee. We may find ourselves sitting awkwardly for a moment just watching the little guppies who are named after characters from Fiddler on the Roof swim around in the aquarium on the kitchen shelf. And that will probably spark a new conversation and time will go by so quickly.
We won't say goodbye when it's over, because we know we'll do it again. Even if you leave my kitchen a mess, I'll have to forgive you since I enjoyed making the mess so very much.
We'll hug long and tight and probably lose our breath in the process. Then our days will continue so much brighter and better.