memory and tasteing
I came across and old photo quite by chance, putting things away. It set me off thinking, as such things do. In the picture my late partner is holding a coffee cup… You can’t see it, but I know precisely what it looked like all those years ago. White with a blue rim and dots, with three tiny flowers, red, yellow and blue.
I remember it because it meant something. Not in itself, of course, but because of circumstance. When he died I had just made him his morning coffee. There was a moment when it was all ‘over’, when the ambulance men had left and I waited for the undertaker, and I picked up the cup, still bearing the last traces of warmth, and I finally wept.
I used that cup for a long time afterwards… just me… even when it was chipped and the handle dangerously cracked. I…
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