A brown bag stands near the sink. I left the box a little further, not far from the corner.
Sip, by sip, I sit alone and stare at the table, where my cup is filled, with tea. I call it Grandma’s tea, because she bought it for me. Actually, she bought loads of it for me, because it’s good for the lungs. A couple of years ago, I had a bad pulmonary embolism, and ever since, my lungs especially, are not so strong as they used to be anymore.
My grandma bought it at a market, a special stand, where they sell this tea. Dried herbs, pine needles, and all kinds of stuff in a brown bag in a box.
I stare at the tea, and realize, that she will never buy it for me again.
But it will always, be grandma’s tea.