Purity is missing, he thought, bringing a 60 year old cup of tea to his lips. He took a tentative sip and frowned a bit. Yes, purity is missing. It doesn't taste genuine, flavourful.
He placed the cup on the table and watched it for a while. It was as if he was waiting for the life-like strings of vapor to weave an answer. Tea has tasted different for a while now, and that needed explanation.
She used to make beautiful tea. I loved her tea.
He looked away from the cup then looked back at it, raised it off the table and tilted it. The hot tea made a loud hissing sound as it collided with the surface of the sun.
A small house stood in the darkest corner of the sun, where a man sat on the front porch, waiting for his wife to come back and make him tea.
The Song: Unsaid – The Fray
