HiveComb

Sometimes, in order to return the feeling of normality, two things are enough: a cup of hot coffee and the right person opposite.

My friend and I finally renewed our long-standing tradition of meeting in our favorite cafe. In that very small, but very cozy. There is a low ceiling with warm lamps, green ferns hanging on the walls, and at the showcase with desserts there is always someone standing in thought, as if choosing not a cake, but fate. I like this place precisely because of its homeliness. I always try to support small entrepreneurs who continue their business despite the war.

My friend and I haven't seen each other in this format for a long time. Then work, then roads, then life. Also a blackout. Also a hellishly cold February. So it was good to be here again. Everything has become familiar: an ordinary table by the window, two cups of coffee and a conversation about life, about dogs. About how difficult it is, and about the fact that we still cope.

And you know what's the most touching thing? She gave me signs. Small, wooden, with inscriptions about the house and dogs.

"A house is not a home without a dog."

"Life isn't perfect but my dog is."

I laughed. Because it's about me. About my house, where eighteen tails live. I adore them, they are absolutely perfect in their devotion and sincerity. They just love us.

It was good that we finally met. Traditions remind me of anchors in some way. They bring it back to themselves. They hold when there is a storm around. Or war.

Sometimes it's just drinking coffee together again. And take home the signs that will fit perfectly into the space of my house.