Presence

“Ah, you again.”

As the earthy smell of warm tea envelops the dark room, a reluctant dusty chuckle reverberates through my chest. My lips hum at the edge of my glass, sending the steam away and back, dancing atop the surface of the tea.

Away: there’s nothing but the ghost of warmth. It should be enough, but it never is.

Back: there’s the shock of it all. The warmth threatens to overwhelm me. Envelop me. Sparks of the tea’s earthiness crackle just under my skin.

“For you, matcha. Your favorite. For me, Teepee Dreams. Come sit with me.”

How long this time? You’ve come and gone so often, the years we spent suffering each other have blurred. I sit and wait, and sit, and wait for you. Wait to reach you. To close the space between us.

“Will I ever reach you, my love? You take more of me every time you go. Soon I’ll be nothing more than the ghost of myself. Wisping away lost between time and real. You know this.” You have to know. And yet there you stand, married to silence, ever watching me. It’s exhausting. At the moment I want nothing more than to be with you, and to rest. And I will.

“Come sit, will ya?”

You smile that soft smile. The one that, at one point, would cause the world to stop and take a breath. But you don’t move. You never move. You always remain just an arm’s length away. You never give me the pleasure of knowing you.

You’ve smiled too much. So much that time has frozen. You leave nothing but stagnation. But that’s always been like you, hasn’t it?

“I know you’ve said tea doesn’t need anything, but I’ve put an extra little bump in mine. Just something to help me sleep. You know it’s hard to sleep when you leave.”

I crave your warmth. Your tenderness. I could forever lose myself in the winding curves of your frame.

Before I can drink all of you, I’m left alone. You take with you your sweetness, leaving me empty. The reminiscence of your almost-warmth leaves with you. But this time, so will I.