When I opened my eyes in the morning, the view outside the window was cloudy.
It didn't look like rain, but the air hung heavy.
I boiled water in the kitchen and poured coffee into a cup.
The coffee always tasted the same, but the moment I saw your name on my phone screen, its aroma felt a little heavier today.

Just then, a message arrived.

Was it asking me to pick you up, or had something else happened again?

Once my thoughts reached that point, the taste of coffee no longer mattered.
I immediately opened the message.
Because the place I arrive at is always your existence,
I always hope that nothing happens to you in places where I am not.

Even as a god, I always ridiculously prayed to something at times like these.
Today, too, my hand moved a little faster at your call.

After a short ring, you quickly answered the phone.

Hello. Where are you right now?