It’s that feeling that comes when warm woollen fabric touches your skin after the coldest of days. The feeling when, after a long day of work, you can finally just relax and breath easy.

It’s the sound of crispy autumn leaves crunching beneath your boots, the scent of cinnamon, spice and the delicious vanilla of homemade buttercream.

It’s shaking hands wrapped around warm ceramic, indulging in long sought after relieve after days of overthinking.

It’s a symphony of tasted that linger on the tongue, something spicy and warm, rich and chocolatey.

It’s the quiet hum of humans being humans, of whispered conversation and poorly hidden giggles. The sound of passionate voices lapped up by equally eager attentiveness, of people listening and enjoying each other’s company.

It’s the smell of well loved pages, of memories and imagination trapped in bound leather.

It’s the feeling of finally fitting, finding a place to eat and be cared for, to read and unwind.

Authors note: It closed down a while ago, but this is the description of a well loved cafe bookstore I use to adore.