A melancholy is in the air - as if the rains let it out. The smokey morning leers at it and my eyes find it difficult to gaze on anything else either. Down the road, as I start to walk, silver translucent shreds of a tangle slow me down. Perhaps, they want me to sit down to tea with my soul. I stop and think about it.
Tea I love any which way. I walk in at ten in the morning and walk down to the canteen for a cup fifteen minutes later. I walk home in the evening and down another cup ten minutes after I have yelled at people in the house. I walk out of my room in the morning and have a bowl full of it. Yes, tea I like.
It's the sitting with the soul that I find uncomfortable. After all, what is there for us to talk about these days? We live in the same house, drown in the same mirror, and sit by the same window... What I know, it does.
Of course, I am quite sure we don't know everything about each other though. Some secrets I lock in my mind. Some facts it erases frequently. We do smile and say hello at times. And those are the only times we want known.
The rest is for the night and Sleep to deal with...
I start to walk again. Sitting down to tea I can postpone for later...
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