Tea with Ghosts: Long-time friends for a recharge
Fey walk the wilds today, sipping each other on your doorstep. Sadness winds through the air as I listen, their words mingling with the breeze and the barking of dogs. Loud, uproarious, silent. I wish for nothing but silence, I think, but it’s wrong. Nothing more of sadness, maybe. Exhaustion, definitely. But not silence.
Exhaustion, the name of all our friends and siblings, right now, heavy with waiting and breath and food and Netflix that doesn’t ease the soul like it used to. Exhaustion but also — the falling of its chains. I feel breath filling my chest again, smiles feeling lighter, sun, brighter. The fey share touch and memories on my doorstep and I welcome them, for the first time in awhile, inside for tea. They smell like smoke and winter, dirt and browning leaves, their teeth, soft and sharp, their eyes watching and glazing across each item to eat.
They are brethren, they are dangerous, they are fey and friend and foe and our eyes light up as we share space — game afoot and souls catching fire. Seeking each other, but feigning indifference, grey eyes laughing and fake-dull, deeply French in their equal parts joy and disdain, the fire sparking and soft, lighting our faces and fingers and wordplay.
We spar and sip and share, soft smiles and sharper teeth touching lips and hot tea. It is — everything I had missed, honestly. My heart feels full, watered and fed, smiles and seeing eyes filling my shadow and knives alike. I feel — not happy, something better than that, like there’s something to live for again. Joy and surprise and curiosity and death, words and friends and companionship.
They leave after we feel full and tired and alive, glowing contentedly in amongst our empty tea leaves and scattered mugs.
The smell of smoke stays on our chapped lips.
photo: cameron bennett, the cutest photographer around