I brewed again today.
Not out of habit. Not because anyone asked.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡRBqMfngmJ3
But because I felt it—beneath the hearth, beneath my ribs—something waking.
Not a memory.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgBoa5h7vlw
A rhythm.
I reached for the same ingredients I’d once forgotten. But this time, I didn’t read the labels.
I listened.
To the creak of the glass, the sigh of cork, the breath of powder against warm water.
And I knew.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVj5vOSx1IV
Not because I remembered.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4gah3OwmR7
But because the tavern remembered for me.
The fire didn’t flicker this time. It swayed—like a dancer, recognizing its partner.
As I stirred, something stirred in me.
Not sadness. Not joy.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡNToMM4d79p
Just… return.
When the drink was done, I didn’t drink it.
I left it on the counter.
A guest came in not long after. One I hadn’t seen in many winters.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4jRIKKn14x
She looked at the mug and stopped mid-step.
“Oh,” she whispered. “You kept it warm for me.”
I hadn’t known I had.
But I nodded, and she wept without shame.
Some recipes are not remembered.11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡh4PPcXiEks
They are received.
