about my cup; and yours

my tea gets cold.
so I have to drink it in the evening. or maybe I forget it unconsciously in the morning on the desk. to know that someone  something is waiting for me at home.

and in the evening I drown in its purity. I wash all my thoughts that have been accumulated during the day and I let them dry, with a soothing taste of camomile. to freshen. maybe they will be more beautiful. or, at least, more luminous, more springlike.

there is another dusty cup in the kitchen. you know it is waiting for you, don’t you? very unpatient.


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