5ish o clock in Spoon in Edinburgh, Scotland.

Lights dimmed, wood tables, rose saucers, light jazz, and leather sofas.

3 friends, 4 pots, no pot.

Warmed by the bittersweet blood orange tea, the scotch whiskey tour from before, and the sun through the hills. Adventuring (the way I want) and soaking in (the way I need). Sitting in Spoon and writing like Rowling. Taking off my oversized dad sweater, keeping it nearby.

All the while, knowing there was magic written here. Knowing that right now — right now — is how I want to be.