Stirring

Peter mixed the simmering liquid, chunks of ingredients were floating on top. The water began to change color, it had a small trace of metallic blue. He continued to stir patiently. 5 minutes passed and he allowed it to sit, simmering on the warm stove, Peter took a long deep wiff of the bold smell, it almost made him feel high, lifted off the ground, he came down as he let the breath out. He added sugar, and a bit of lemon, it took Peter months to get the recipe right. He removed it from heat and stepped outside and smoked a cigarette while he allowed it to cool. He didn't want to think anymore, he wanted to imagine, he wanted to live his thoughts, "ah fuck!" He whispered angrily as a mosquito flew into his eye, it must've been a good sign. He extinguished his grit and walked back inside, the smell was hovering in the house, stinking up the room like cheap perfume, a smile decorated his distorted face, made his eyes seem shinier. He had no need for anybody else, nobody could understand his fucked up thoughts, his fucked up ideas, nobody but himself, he had no trust in anyone, not even his own self, but that's all he had. He stepped back to the pot, now somewhat cool, he gave it one final stirring, blending the flavor throughout the liquid itself, he poured it into his cup, it was 8 fluid ounces, just as he planned, that seemed to be the only thing he could ever get right.. He was proud of himself! He drank the night away, looking up at the stars, they were the only thing that remained unchanged to him, the only thing that could make him feel real, down to earth, they were always there, Peter always thought they shone for him, for his enjoyment, nobody could appreciate it like he did, not even an astronomer. "Thank you..."