May 26, 2012

My dearest,

“I feel like some tea,” you say.

This is going to be difficult. Making tea at home almost always means resorting to teabags. You like English Breakfast; I find it a bore. I love Earl Grey; you find its floral notes too strong. Hence the teabags: a pot of tea to share between us would be a gulf of spilt milk, surely?

“English Breakfast?” I ask, finally. I might as well make you something that will keep you happy.

“How about green tea?”

Green tea. Why didn’t I think of that? We both love green tea, its clean and soothing flavours. And no need for milk, spilt or otherwise. I go and rummage in the pantry. I find a small canister wrapped carefully in brown paper and stamped with Japanese characters. The green tea we bought in Kyoto. Time to break it out and brew a pot.

We have a habit of keeping the best for the right occasion — and the right occasion never comes more often than not. What better time than now? The colour of the tea is light green-gold and its taste as smooth as a gentle brook.

“I like this tea,” you say.

“Me too,” I agree.

“We should drink tea together more regularly.”

“Definitely.”

And I pour another cup for you and me.

Yours, ever and always.