Language

There was a piece of chocolate missing. The golden box was full except for one coffee & cream. A delicious coffee & cream. Taste he surely had. I slowly looked across the room, vainfully hoping I could still unmask hidden offenders. The kitchen was shining. For hours I had been scrubbing, mopping, rinsing and washing. I had bumped my head, had sat on my knees. I had removed all the food from the refrigerator and wiped the inside with warm soapy water. Even read the vacuum cleaner manual. The high-gloss cupboards were glittering, the floor was like a clean plate. But there were no silent fingerprints, no forgotten crumbs. No fallen dust to write YES on the kitchen table. All traces had disappeared in a bucket full of water and a microfiber dust mob. So I knelt down and scanned the floor with the palm of my hand, drawing contours of a man's footprint, but nothing I found. Disciplined I had guarded this box from my own greedy taste buds, to discover that someone else had broken into my treasure. I heard my ears whistling and felt my eyes burn, my heart started pounding in my chest. In one swift swing my fists landed on the table, making a cracking sound that was not coming from the wood. Tiny drops of beetroot red coloured the immaculate room. How easy it is to hurt yourself. Finally the pain took over my raging anger and slowly the comfort of lost possibilities touched down on me. It was only me and the box now. No long expected passers-by at the kitchen table. So I gave in and took what I had kept away from myself: the second and last coffee & cream, which, in the end, I now had shared with some one else.