Ingredients:
1 black tea bag
2 teaspoons of white sugar
A splash of milk
Tea, milk, sugar. Perfect blend for a perfect beverage served by someone perfect. We always drank the same brand, the same amount, the same time. It was our special treat.
“милый, приходи на чай!” (Honey, come for tea!) His mother would shout.
The two of us would hurry to the kitchen. It was best while it was still steaming.
We sat at the light brown table, scooted our chairs in close and cupped the mugs. The warmth spread through my hands, up my arms, right to my core.
We sipped and finished our tea, going upstairs afterwards.
“Спасибо, мисс!” (Thank you Miss), I said as I hugged his Mother.
“конечно, милашка.” (Of course sweetie).
As soon as we reached his room he pulled me for a hug. His warmth didn't take as long to fill my body. It went right to my core. I softened in his arms, melting like the sugar in the tea. The comfort was intoxicating.
Again, we drank tea. Every Thursday, after school at 5:30. We sip countless times, finishing endless mugs filled with the beverage.
After a while we stopped rushing to the table. It wasn’t as special as it once was. The tea got colder and colder, losing its steam, losing its comfort.
Now I stir my chai alone. Two teaspoons of sugar, a splash of milk and the same brand of tea. It isn’t quite as warm, there is no longer that special feeling.
I finally finish my cup, bring it to the kitchen sink, and wash it out, just the same as before, yet I was alone.
One day it will be my comfort again.
1 black tea bag
2 teaspoons of white sugar
A splash of milk
Tea, milk, sugar. Perfect blend for a perfect beverage served by someone perfect. We always drank the same brand, the same amount, the same time. It was our special treat.
“милый, приходи на чай!” (Honey, come for tea!) His mother would shout.
The two of us would hurry to the kitchen. It was best while it was still steaming.
We sat at the light brown table, scooted our chairs in close and cupped the mugs. The warmth spread through my hands, up my arms, right to my core.
We sipped and finished our tea, going upstairs afterwards.
“Спасибо, мисс!” (Thank you Miss), I said as I hugged his Mother.
“конечно, милашка.” (Of course sweetie).
As soon as we reached his room he pulled me for a hug. His warmth didn't take as long to fill my body. It went right to my core. I softened in his arms, melting like the sugar in the tea. The comfort was intoxicating.
Again, we drank tea. Every Thursday, after school at 5:30. We sip countless times, finishing endless mugs filled with the beverage.
After a while we stopped rushing to the table. It wasn’t as special as it once was. The tea got colder and colder, losing its steam, losing its comfort.
Now I stir my chai alone. Two teaspoons of sugar, a splash of milk and the same brand of tea. It isn’t quite as warm, there is no longer that special feeling.
I finally finish my cup, bring it to the kitchen sink, and wash it out, just the same as before, yet I was alone.
One day it will be my comfort again.