I believe in beverages. When I was a baby, my father would dip his finger in his coffee and give me a little taste. My fondest memories of my mother are those where she is making tea. I believe that hot beverages often translate to love. Each morning my father gets up to make coffee for the two of us. He fills the coffee pot with more water now, and grinds up six tablespoons instead of three so that I can have a cup of my own. It is dark and silky smooth. Even on the days where I leave before him, the coffee is almost always made.
"I Believe In Beverages,"
The Peregrine Review: Vol. 33, Article 22.
Available at: https://mosaic.messiah.edu/peregrinereview/vol33/iss1/22