I have been thinking so much lately about this little kitchen. This is where Eric and I cooked our first meal together. It’s where we celebrated our first Thanksgiving. It’s where we held hands and looked out at the hills more times than I can remember. I miss this little kitchen, and I miss how Eric used to walk through the door, drenched with rain, ready to warm up at the table. But mostly I feel grateful that we are still cooking together, still holding hands and gazing out the windows, and that every time he walks through the door, it still feels like a gift.
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