tea

Long life milk in my black tea. Suddenly I am in Mozambique, on a wooden deck over the Indian Ocean, eating crusty bread with butter. The girl who dances on the beach and climbs in the rafters, happier than I’d ever been in my life.

Yesterday I had lunch with Alex. She’s been here six weeks with the year ahead of her and she’s headed to Mozambique in a week and a half, on the same trip I took. She glowed, used the word “unreal” at least ten times, and I could see that she is in love, the same way I fell for Cape Town. I felt as though I was meeting myself two years ago, and I was jealous.

The milk tastes the same, today – but instead, I am in an office, sounds of construction instead of the ocean.