“The more intense the idealism, the more bizarre are the contradictions that underpin the idea,” she said.
I sipped on the cup of Tulsi tea and placed it down on the table. “That sounds true,” I opined.
At the beginning of our conversation, the cat had watched us with a peculiar curiosity. Within a minute, it became fatigued and found its way onto the top of the black bookshelf. A black cat on a black bookshelf.
The tea was growing colder each second. The visible steam had disappeared. “Are we not like tea?” I asked her.
She reached out for her own cup and sipped on it.
“Yes, it is tasty and full of homely feelings,” she replied.
The cat let out a yawn from the black bookshelf.
