When I opened a package postmarked from the States, everything suddenly smelled like coffee. Like home. Like my parents. Like mornings spent at the dining room table with my dad. Like love. It was the smell of love.
Suddenly coffee was everywhere. All over the letters and stickers and hot chocolate and little book and other trinkets that had also made the trip over to Taiwan was coffee. Beautiful smelling coffee.
Not just any coffee, either. Mayan Black Onyx.
As I soaked in the aroma that smothered the entire package, I pulled something from an envelope that covers the walls of other places; but here, it is special. A picture of my parents.
Then suddenly I was taking a step back in time into a friendship that still carries me into the future: a letter my best friend wrote me before I left the country.
And everything was stained with coffee. And love.