The Barista Who Remembered My Order

She said it before I could:

*The usual?*

And I had to stop myself from crying

in the middle of a Tuesday

in a coffee shop that smells like cinnamon and effort.

Because I live alone.

Because nobody asks what I want

before I say it.

Because I've moved four times in eight years

and the accumulation of starting over

has worn me thinner than I let on.

So yes.

The usual.

And she was already reaching for the cup

and I thought: this is enough.

This small knowing.

This is enough.