I am looking for my tea-mugs; one is green, the other, floral. I find them on the window-sill, both half drunk, as always.

It tells me two things; she must have been here twice, and I would make a poor house-maid. I take the mugs, head for the kitchen to pour them out. Instead, I place them on the sink. I glare at them, suddenly realizing that a half-drunk mug of tea is no longer a half-drunk mug of tea.

It is a song, played at the right time, then the wrong. It is a book, recommended, then left to dust. It is a movie, shared, then returned.

It has a pair of eyes now. It has hair. It has a voice, and even a particular way of touching my hand.

“Well, shit,” I tell the tea. It doesn’t get angry, it doesn’t mock. It is tea.

I pour it out.

How the hell am I going to spend the rest of my life avoiding half-drunk mugs of tea? I think, setting the kettle on.


A Writer and an artist living in Russia

18 Comment on “A Half-Drunk Mug of Tea

  1. Pingback: Best of Flash-365 – FLASH-365

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