When My Good Friend, Sadness, Comes For Tea.

When he comes to visit, he doesn’t take off his shoes. Dragging and tracking mud from the outside to every room in the house. Doesn’t even wipe his feet at the welcome mat before entering. With every visit, his clothes become shabbier and his hands filthier. He always apologizes and says he can’t stay for long, he has others to visit. I always suggest water, but he prefers tea. Taking longer to make and prolonging his stay. We always listen to Etta while the tea is being made. I’m not ever sure when he’ll leave, some visits are longer than others. No matter how long the stay, you can always tell he was here. The longer he stays, the more dirt and mud build up on the floor. The more smudges and streaks upon the wall. Sometimes even long after he’s gone and I’ve purified the walls and polished the floorboards, there’s still stains he left behind. Forget-me-nots proving he was once here. Before he goes, he always turns to me and says I should be grateful I’ve only got to scrub mud from the floors and trail a rag against the walls. If he was to take his shoes off, it would be far more mess to clean.