I Watched My Tea Go Grey Before I Touched It

Dear Delyara, I had made it properly too. Tea bag brewed just right, milk in at the right moment, steam still rising when I put the mug down by the toaster. Then the usual things happened. A child called from upstairs. The phone buzzed. One message needed answering. One lunchbox needed washing. The cat started scratching at the back door. Someone remembered a form. Someone else remembered they had forgotten something else. By the time I came back, the tea had that tired grey look it gets when warmth has left it completely. I stared at it longer than necessary because I knew exactly why it upset me. It wasn’t the tea. It was the pattern. So many things in my life reach me already cold. Already delayed. Already interrupted. Already touched by five other people’s needs before they become fully mine. And some days that feels like the whole emotional shape of womanhood. I reheated it. It helped a little. Not enough.