Magic brew

Today I am drinking Turkish coffee again, in your memory. The kind you taught me to make in that tiny kitchen in your weekend house among the Dolenjska vineyards.

When the magic brew boils, the aroma brings you next to me once more. This cannot have the appellation of an “involuntary memory.” So long ago when I was still just a child, you probably unknowingly entrusted me with a spell for the time when you will no longer be here. This is an invocation! Thank you, Grandpa.

Today marks one year since you passed away. And yet you are still here with me over this cup of coffee.

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