Hit me with your best pot:
You know how to make it just right, and there is nothing more comforting than the thought of squashing up together on the sofa with our steaming mugs.
It’s a welcome home, a bedtime kiss, a good morning sunshine.
You sent me the stuff I like when I couldn’t get it in Australia, and you always make sure there’s a box in the cupboard when I visit.
I’ve taken to travelling with tea. This small piece of home makes every place less alien, less daunting.
What you don’t realise is that having you is the reason I feel as though I can keep on wandering. I can be free-falling and feel totally alone because you are the rope that anchors me. We don’t need to talk everyday: you are a part of me.
Sometimes I think you’re all that matters and I wonder what more I am searching for. I argue that there are practical reasons for me to stay away. Honestly, I am scared of who I was. I’m scared to go back. I’m scared to still feel longing when there is nothing left to wish for, when a cup of tea no longer makes everything okay.