I drank one hot cup of tea from beginning to end without interruption

Dear Delyara, No reheating. No “Mum.” No phone. No “while you’re there.” No task entering the room halfway through and turning comfort into labour. Just one full hot mug in one quiet chair by the window. That sounds small enough to dismiss. I can’t dismiss it. Because what moved me was not only the tea. It was completion. So much of my life reaches me broken up, delayed, partially owned by somebody else’s need before it fully becomes mine. This moment didn’t. It arrived whole, stayed whole, and reached my body all the way through. I nearly cried over that. Which probably tells you everything about the week I’d had.