Afternoon tea in a sunlit dining room. Empty but for a few tables alive with quiet-humming talk. Sitting up straight, dividing savories into twos. Sipping from a flower'd cup, tea that's been luke warm for many conversation turns.
Strolling next to dad on breezy streets shaded by towering stones. Adjusting a sweater against a twilight nip. Listening, talking. Being heard, being known.
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