Dearest Ruby, my sugar, my love.
We shared a friendship over warmth of food. How beautiful is our language?
The warm tea on foggy morning scalds our tongue and
the numbness lingers for the whole day, you know that's how a good day starts.
A hearty meal is not just a hearty meal.
When silence sweeps us, your fork takes another tiny pinch on the cake
right before we talk about the next big thing.
You always make very sweet, very fragrant, fluff cakes.
You know how much I love time spent on me, Ruby, your time
poured in the cake batter and your time,
thinking of your loved ones as you do.
The sweetest hint of vanilla whiff in the evening.
Currency of affection.
You know, I love you a little bit more each morning you wake up very early to cook
breakfast for me.
I love you more and more as more meals we enjoy together
over small talks and crushing intimacy of having a bite off
each other's plates when we do.
Then at the end of the meal, we twirl with the spoon, mouth still keep talking
because it feels nice.
Trusting a person while on a sugar rush.
All relaxed. All guards down.
Little sips of what's left in the coffee mug.
Then you talk about your friends.
Then about your fears and longings.
I've never had one better friend my whole life.
I never realised that we were bad cooks, but for all I know, long as
we try to break each other's wall and understand why it was there
in the first place,
I will love you forever.
My Ruby.
My only Ruby.
