Little sweetheart, most of the time when we were in your apartment in San Francisco were either alighting in your kitchen at the little breakfast nook or in your room with its crimson curtains and duvet cover. There was an entire living room, of course, but those two were our preferred spots to linger. Sometimes, though the light pouring through the windows in that room drew us to sofa - or like this - to the dining table, where you'd crawl into my lap and take me in your arms. I can still remember exactly how that felt. Thank you for finding me, my love.
