...spice and everything nice

It was cold outside and cold inside

and I needed love.

Not the kind that deserts you.

Not the kind that promises and then runs.

Not the kind that has its own fearful self-interests at heart.

But the kind that is pure

that is warm

that is full of promises and trust and comforting, comforting, comforting.

And so, 9:52: 8 minutes before close, we jumped in our car and drove to "The Chocolate."

Need I say more?

Well, yes, I must say more because you have most likely never been there.

A picture with words:

antique banana-cream house

with a porch and big stained glass windows

and inside,

counters and shelves full of chocolate cakes and chocolate cupcakes and chocolate cookies,

and overstuffed chairs

and lamps and paintings and wood floors.

If you know me, you would walk in and think: if Carolyn were a house, she would be this one.

There's a very soothing feeling about sitting in a house that is you,

just in wood, brick, banister form.

And so I ordered the spice hot chocolate, because the lady behind the counter said it was the best, unequivocably, without hestitation. Like so:

me: ".... .... I think I want the hot chocolate...what's the best flavor? Mint, spice, hazeln--"

her: "SPICE."

me: "yeahokay." (polite nod, inside giggle at her intensity.)

But then one sip and I understood.

In a cup as big as my heart,

kissed with whipped cream and cinnamon,

that spice hot chocolate whispered lovely things to me,

silent things,

like: "look how beautiful you are on the inside."

and: "your turn is coming. don't give up."

and: "peace."

Funny that a cup of hot chocolate could do that, no?

But that night, I slept the sweetest I have since October,

and the morning brought dreams of adventures and promises of love, promises of joy

in a future yet to be lived, yet to be imagined,

the sun just coming up

on a beautiful new day.