Love Languages

The Milk

Written by ALMA CLAIRE / Photograph by ABlinq Media

He forgot to put milk in her coffee.

She stares at the mug; water so black she can see her reflection

and it’s hard face and broken eyes

Gazing back


Back to the kitchen he goes

and reaches for the fridge

(he’s used to the cold by now)

clenched fist and clenched jaw

I’m sorry just let me explain before –


Before we have this fight again

she says

I don’t care about the traffic or your headache or the thought that counts.

Count the number of times

I’ve told you about

The Milk.


What he meant to say was that he knew she would be tired today

(But so was he)

and so he tried to make coffee

and that he’s sorry

and that black or milky

A drink isn’t a measure of his love.


That no liquid can quantify the

the nights he has spent thinking of her

as his wife

and the life

they will have because she means everything to him.


What he actually mutters under his breath but just loud enough to hear


It’s just milk.


Fuel to the fire.


If it’s just


then in ten years times will it


be a divorce?


She asks hoping he will kiss her.

He asks how milk and marriage are related.


What she means to say is that it was never about

The Milk.

It was always about whether he listens to her

(because she listens to him)

and cares enough to remember the simple things

like how she likes her coffee

and that she’s sorry

she overreacted.


She knows that maybe they speak different love languages

(like she read in that one book)

and that even though

she knows

which toothpaste he likes

it doesn’t mean he doesn’t love her.


They stand in silence and the

Black coffee gets cold.

I’ll get the milk she says.


He sits down and frowns and begins

slowly to



She stirs in the milk

as white as the innocence that still


and made her believe that he


to her every word.


It meant nothing to him

And everything to her :

The Milk.


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