Bittersweet

The coffee was too strong, even for my liking. I sliced a sliver of the tin fouled wrapped banana loaf and grimaced at the texture.

It felt like a rectangular sponge, ready to suck the moisture from my lips. I took a tentative bite, using the glass of water to force it down. It also gave the sponge-like cake satisfaction of ripping away moisture that wasn't mine.

I remember my mother's morning coffee in bed, and grandmothers homemade banana loaf. It tastes bitter without their touch, but with their memory, I add a dash of something indescribably perfect. Sweet. Love.