A Recipe to Cure Loneliness
a lil story for a hopeful start to spooky season
The bell rings.
You walk in with hollow eyes and begging lips, “Help,” you cry, “there’s a hole in my chest.”
I look up from my reading and see that the light that surrounds most people has dimmed around you. The hole was not just in your chest. It was in your soul too.
“Alright my love, take a seat. Let me prepare you a potion to counter an ache so deep.”
I open up a drawer and find the paper with the recipe. I read a curious note in the bottom and nod. Then I take out my cauldron to move around my shop, picking out ingredients from the shelf.
One block of chocolate, roughly chopped, infused with the laughter of a child you once knew
4 cups of milk of your choice, stirred in with loving words and positive intentions
4 tablespoons of sugar or honey, imbibed with sweet thoughts and your reflection in a sweeter light
Vanilla extract, the recipe calls for 1/4 tsp, but always measure with your heart
I arrange them around my cauldron, then grab a white matchbox. You look in curiously.
“Here are matches, light them yourself. Ask the flame to give you what you need. Let it create a spark in your rib.”
Your shaking hands reach out to take them. I see you close your eyes in a whisper. A lone teardrop paints your cheeks and a quick movement after you light the fire under the cauldron.
“Fire is mankind’s first tool for alchemy. It has always been used to change an object’s properties into something new.” I drop in the chocolate and milk and stir in the sugar and vanilla. We both look in as they combine from the heat.
“What was your favorite snack as a child?” You tell me your stories and we stir them in.
“How is your mother?”
“Whose arms do you miss?”
On and on we stir and chat. Memories and emotions lacing the essence of the magic concoction. A few stories make you smile, a few that made you cry. I notice how much your eyes look more and more alive.
“Your potion is ready. Go sit by the window, and I’ll serve it to you.”
I take two mugs from my shelf and pour a full serving on each. Then I bring it to the side table by the window where you sit. You smile as you take it, and we chat for a bit. You take your time before taking a sip.
Then, with a look of trepidation you take your first sip. And as it goes down your throat so does your shoulders. You smile and sigh with relief.
“I can feel it taking effect,” you beam , “Can I make this potion when I feel alone?”
“Of course, let me make you a copy before you go.”
With the copy on hand and our cups empty, you rise to take your leave.
“Read it carefully, it will not work unless all the ingredients are complete.” I warn.
At the bottom of the page, scrawled in ink, “For the ailment of Loneliness there is but one cure, it is good intentions and a conversation with a friend.”