Some Things Are Better Shared
2 min read
I’m very good at enjoying the little things.
Give me a coffee, somewhere pretty to sit, and ten quiet minutes and I’ll probably turn it into an entire event in my head.
It’s a writer problem.
Or perhaps just a me problem.
I notice the light. The conversations around me. The ridiculous little umbrella in my drink that somehow makes everything more fun than it has any right to be.
And, of course, I notice the music.
This afternoon, a familiar song started playing.
Everywhere.
I smiled almost immediately.
There was a time when that song belonged to a shared playlist. One of those little collections of music that somehow becomes a collection of moments too.
And for a few seconds, I thought about that playlist.
About him.
About how funny it is that a song can sit quietly somewhere for years and then, with the first few notes, bring an entire feeling back into the room.
Not sadness.
Just recognition.
And it made me think about something I’ve always found wonderfully romantic:
with the right person, almost anywhere can become somewhere special.
It doesn’t really matter if you’re somewhere extraordinary.
Sometimes it’s just a café.
A table.
Something to drink.
Something to share.
A conversation that was supposed to last an hour and somehow steals five.
And still, when it’s time to leave, neither of you seems particularly interested in getting up.
Because five hours can feel like seconds when you’re exactly where you want to be.
And suddenly you find yourself wanting the smallest, most unreasonable thing:
Five more minutes.
Not another evening.
Not forever.
Just five more minutes.
One more story.
One more laugh.
One more completely unnecessary conversation before someone finally says, we really should go.
I think that might be one of my favorite kinds of romance.
Not necessarily the grand gestures.
The company.
That quiet magic of being with someone who makes you forget to check the time.
Someone who can turn an ordinary place into one you’ll remember simply because they were sitting across from you.
I suppose that’s why I romanticize these little moments so much.
Because sometimes the place isn't what makes a memory beautiful.
The coffee isn't either.
Not even the song.
It’s who was there.
And perhaps that’s why certain songs find their way back to us.
They remind us that once, somewhere, five hours felt like seconds.
And all we wanted was five minutes more.
