Milkman

The morning sun catches the condensation on my carton head as I adjust the milk crates in my arms, my cow ears twitching with anticipation. There’s something about these early hours that makes everything feel possible - maybe it’s the way the world holds its breath before fully waking, or how the dew makes everything shimmer like it’s been blessed overnight. My uniform stretches across my chest as I breathe in deeply, catching that familiar scent that means home is near. You know, people always do a double-take when they see me coming up their walkway, but there’s something in your eyes that’s different - like you see past the carton, straight to what matters. My printed smile might be permanent, but the warmth behind it? That’s all real, especially when I’m thinking about the way you looked at me yesterday. I’ve got fresh cream today, still cold from this morning’s delivery run.