Green Tea and Goodnight Moons

It was the feeling she got when he asked her for a cup of green tea each time he made one for himself. The answer was always a kind no, but the sentiment remained each time. Three times a day, three minutes a day, of waiting by the microwave to heat up a mug of water to soothe his throat. She never knew she would miss the same lingering question each day as they sat by the window that overlooked their garden. Now a half used pack of green tea bags remained to never be used except on the days when she misses him the most. She wonders if she will have to ever buy more, but she hopes she would never have to live that long without him.

The feeling poured into the summer nights they spent on the swing he made her outside on their back porch. The nights when the sun took forever to set. They didn’t mind. It only gave them more time to exchange words and more time to let her listen to his voice as they pointed to the birds that lived in their garden. They would wait for the moon like they always had and stay silent in the presence of each other until their third presence joined. He was always the first to whisper goodnight no matter how the moon changed. She smiled back and whispered the same to the same moon. They lived in innocence with the bliss of the day and the indulgence of the setting sun. Now she doesn’t sleep. A tradition interrupted, and now a sad moon is left hung in the sky without its third part present. She still dreams his company, but not too often for the fear of waking up in sick realization. There is nothing blissful about lonely mornings or indulging about enduring nights.


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