Sometimes I rip my tea bag when I open the packet.
If I’m feeling ambitious, I will use it anyway.
Straining the leaves when the tea has steeped fills me
with confidence. If I can do this, I can do anything.
Wrapping my hands around the cup, inhaling the steam, I remember other cups of tea.
Morning cups with cold pizza,
afternoon cups with crispy cookies,
evening cups with conversations,
midnight cups with ticking clocks.
Sometimes, I heat milk for my tea.
this is a special occasion and its novelty soothes my senses.
When I drink tea, I forget that I actually prefer coffee.