Black tea.
With milk.
I know that doesn’t noteworthy, but it does
represent a change.
It was always green tea and no milk before.
Since she died I’ve also been drinking my
tea from a cup she gave me for Christmas twenty years ago.
I had never used it until now.
Ok, it might be a way of holding onto her;
but I think I’m morphing.
I’m becoming her.
I walk like her.
I look like her.
Which is weird.
As she, was a she.
int/18
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