Afternoon Tea

They came unannounced. I hadn’t the time to start a new pot of tea. Instead, they sat, poised and deathly silent. Doubt next to Ambition, knowing that she’d feel suffocated, while Hatred perched himself on the edge of the sofa, closest to me. I could have screamed, but Dignity looked at me as if I was a child on the brink of a tantrum, so I excused myself. When I go to that place, the place where none of them are, I feel hollow, carcass-like. But when I return, I am full to the brim, drowning in the self. Grief, my old friend, she looks after me. Whenever things become too light, she drags me back to her apartment and steeps me in heavy. I love her though. I couldn’t live without her. Happiness is too flighty for these sorts of gatherings. She takes me under her wing only to throw me back into the gaping abyss. Compassion fucks with me. She lets me sleep over too often. I usually overstay my welcome. She makes me feel terrible about myself. But Anger, he’s always there to have a drink with me. He knows when I’m sinking, and when I’ve sunk, and how to let me drown for a bit, just until I’m numb. I know so little of him though. Our conversations revolve around me and my crises. I so desperately wish to understand him, all of them. I should make more tea.