sea in a cup of tea.

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Before you leave, I have to remind you to drink the coffee I prepared for you. To check if you have your car keys with you. To iron the folds and creases of your blouse with your palm. Before you close that door, you send me a warm gratitude without the brush of your lips upon mine. But it is all right—my imagination is enough.

When you return at night, I have to remind you about your dirty shoes, to bid your goodbyes to it outside the house. To ask you how did your day turn. I want to know what I can do to relieve the pain you have, but you say a cup of tea will be enough. I lay the saucer before you and the smoke curls inside your nose, and I hear you sigh. We eat our dinner in silence, apart from the clock’s ticks, and it is enough for me.

As I drink the sea from the cracked glass, I hold my tongue to not tell you I was late for work this morning. My computer broke and I lost the file I needed to present for the meeting. The director choked me through his anger. I lost my wallet, and credit cards and identification cards and a stack of cash, in the bus (or a thief fooled me). Yet I try to catch your eyes to ask me if there is something wrong.

You finish your tea and with your sleepy eyes, you hold my gaze to say ‘goodnight.’ And I can only nod at you and swallow the flowing watercourses I lock in my lungs.


WORD COUNT: 273

Thank you for reading this story. If you want to talk about random things with me, do not hesitate to reach me through my “Contact” page. All the best love, my dear.

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