Blue Beauty

I have found her, in the spirit of these tea leaves. She will keep me company tonight. I will light candles in the den, and brew this secret potion from god knows what tea garden; an oolong, the blue beauty.

She drifts into the room on a tide of music. She shimmers. Is this what candle flames would look like through tears? I don’t know, I haven’t cried in years. With her comes the silver notes of bells, the faint perfume of angels, the ever presence and comfort like a mother’s hand to a child. I cower behind my keyboard, furtive fingers typing words like a pentacle in which to bind her so that she cannot escape. I want to hold here here in my den, to keep me company through these luminescent nights. She brings all of the book titles on the shelves to a warm glow, yearning to be plucked from their perches and their covers plied asunder to expose what is inside. She makes the music play along all of my nerves like deft fingers. I hesitate to drink any more from the blue beauty for fear of reaching the bottom of the cup, but if I stop drinking, she grows cold. And yet with each sip she grows lukewarm, cold, colder still. So cold in here, now that she’s gone.