Every morning, I wake up around dawn.
I get out of bed, go to the kitchen, fill the kettle with water and turn it on.
I get a mug out of the cupboard and put coffee in the cafetière.
I go to the bathroom and then turn on my computer and check email.
When I hear the kettle click, I go and fill the cafetière and wait for a bit.
Some times longer than other times.
I’m never really sure how long I should wait.
Normally it’s two or three minutes.
I pour a cup of coffee.
And she is there.
She is there.
Hair pulled back into a ponytail.
White sports bra top thing (I don’t know the actual word, sorry).
Grey sporty trousers.
She looks at me and melts my heart.
A slight smile.
She smiles while I drink coffee.
She knows I should probably go to the gym with her, but she never says anything.
She knows I like to drink coffee, stare out of the window as the sun comes up, she knows that those first couple of hours are the most creative hours I have in my day.
She’s not a cow in a field.
She’s not text.
She’s not an illustration.
She’s not an industrial farming process.
She sees me at my worst and she doesn’t judge me.
Then I put her back in the fridge.