Day Ten

Another day with nothing to say so I thought I would grab a picture (from the prettiest tumblr in the world owned by my lovely friend Charlie) and tell you the story behind it. For some reason this picture grasped my attention because I can imagine the person in it being pensive and it would be nice for my dear readers to know what she is thinking.  

I was shrouded in the scent of old books the second I set foot into the book shop, head ducked, watching my scuffed shoes carry my feet forward for me. In the distance between what was occurring in my head and reality I could hear wisps of the voices of the book shop owners tickling at my mind. I shook them away, the wispy voices crumbling into dust in my head as Mr and Mrs Jones frowned at me and turned back to the piles of books they were sifting through. I picked my way through the stacks of books which were blocking my way; even physical things were closing in on me. I bit back tears.


I reached the coffee shop which was joint to the book shop, the fragrance of strong coffee glazing the scent of old books with another layer of hazy smoke, too sweet, too sickening, I couldn't breathe. Usually those smells would calm me, but I was wrapped up in everything that had happened over the past few days. I was choking on it all.


I ordered a cup of tea; a cup of tea is strong and steady. It is controlled by the person who brews it. Control, exactly what I needed right now. I shakily went about my ritual, brewing the tea for exactly three and a half minutes before removing the tea bag and watching as the swirling flavours crowded the cup; they seemed flustered, confused and lost. I noticed this and hastily stirred the tea until it was calm and quiet once more.


I then gently poured in the milk, the smooth, lulling fluidity of the liquid as it poured into the tea gave me a moment to breathe. The tea was complete, and as I blew away the steam which was pirouetting from it I felt relaxed for the first moment in a long while.


I forgot about my dad, the car crash, my mother's spiraling depression, my uncle's abuse. I covered the bruises on my wrist with my sleeves and kissed them quickly through the fabric. Everything would be okay. I would be fine. I had a long cup of tea to mull things over and I could lose myself in a book or two. Reality slowly flooded away completely and my mind felt like a tranquil place. I'd look after myself now.


I have no idea what that was but there you go, that's the story of the girl in the picture.


I'm tired now, sorry this was left so late and is so awful and short. Good night, sweet reader.


Ayesha x