On a cup of vanilla chamomile

My eyes were closed with every sip from the steaming cup. I was thinking how a cup of hot water with light flavoring could soothe the troubles inside my head. I was wondering how a little green teabag could make the warm water taste so different.

I sipped some more.

The steam already fogged my eyeglasses. It seemed like the world just revolved between me and my cup of chamomile. Like how life revolved around you.

I took another sip.

The tea felt so warm in my mouth and the cup in my palms. It felt like the first time my hand held yours. The first time we snuggled down my couch one rainy afternoon. It felt like the first time. Yes, the very first  time.

I just held the cup close to my face.

The scent of vanilla was very comforting. It felt so smooth. ‘Twas a little whiff of heaven.  I remembered, I used to sniff your hair to guess what brand of shampoo you were using. And it always ended that I’d get the wrong answer because you changed your shampoo too often, like how your feelings change. But even so, your scent was very familiar like the hint of vanilla on my cup of tea.

I poured some more water on the teabag resting on the cup. It was the same teabag. It was the same tea cup. The same water I used. But it tasted different. The color was pale and unpleasing. It was not even steaming anymore. The flavor was lighter, actually, bland and almost uninteresting. So I threw the teabag and replaced it with a new one.

Maybe that was how I was to you.








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