Tea Time 1835

Passed ten in the evening I lay on my bed after a quick cold shower to freshen up my sticky sweaty skin from that night's summer weather. I curled on the right corner of the bed leaving the rest of the space to my seven other pillow friends that guard me from all the sleepy spirits that might try to steal a nap beside me while my soul is far away running in my dreams. I felt the sheets smooth under my pyjamas, the pillow so soft on my cheeks and the color of the night is none as my eyelids become heavy and heavier . I smell the midnight dew and hear the stars and the moon whispering goodnights but I forced to open my eyes.

And then suddenly I was there, sitting on an oak wood chair in front of a small round oak wood table. Orange oak wood table? Oh! I looked above and saw the blooming flowers of a Flame tree. Ah yes, I'm under a Flame tree illuminating the shades of beautiful orange hue. As the sunlight escaped through the gaps of its flowers and leaves, it hit me right in the face. Warm. I raised my palm to cover my blinded eyes. The light astonishingly lovely and translucent in my hand; I closed my eyes but I can still see the light. At that very moment, the wind hums in my ears a soundless song of love, blows my untidy long wavy hair, and embraces my nostrils the scent of tea – green tea. Hmm, awaking a forgotten memory in me. I opened my eyes; "Estd 1835 Steuarts Tea by George Steuart" my mind read from the tag dangling on a white porcelain tea cup over table. Wait, two tea cups over the table – and a small bouquet of yellow dancing daffodils in between. My vision shifted in a muddled way of transition between two different time and event from the tea cups to the chair opposite to mine. Where a guy is sitting and smiling at me, strangely yet beautifully and genuinely smiling at me. He looks tall, his skin sun kissed and tanned but vibrant under the bright sunlight, his dark brown eyes are deep, happy and benign that seems to gape through the being of my soul. And his familiar scent I can't exquisitely describe suggests that I know him. I don't know why but we talked and laughed about life, dreams and Jesus like we were old friends passed by time that I can't remember when or how.

I turned around and felt someone embraced me from the back, warm and sturdy. I gently opened my sleepy eyes and turned back my lazy body to see. He looks tall despite that he is lying in the bed and his skin sun kissed and tanned but vibrant under the bright sunlight from the window. He opened his deep happy and benign dark brown colored eyes that seems to gape through the being of my soul. And his familiar morning scent I can't exquisitely describe suggests that I know him. His one arm still wraps around my back he said "Good morning, my love," and then gently kissed me – a charmed sweet kiss I knew. As my sober dream gradually subsides away from my bloodstream, I instinctively traced my left ring finger with my thumb and smiled. As then I know that this guy lying next to me is my old friend for a long and countless time my mind can't remember when or how... and my husband yesterday and (I'm sure) for the rest of our God-given life.