House of Oase

The coffee is still warm by the time you sit down to drink it. Someone is reading the same page twice, not because they have to go back, but because there is nowhere else to be. A thin line of gold catches the window light for a second, then settles again, warm and weighted, as a shoulder shifts.  Nobody in the room is dressed for anyone. Whatever was chosen this morning was chosen without a second glance in the mirror, just one piece, worn alone, the way the good ones always have.                                                                  House of Oase — we don’t need the mirror’s opinion.