Not quite an essay…

I jokingly say quite a lot that I could write an essay on some of things that I really really like (one might say love). So I kind of played around with that idea. It isn’t quite an essay, not even close really, but it is an outpouring of some kind of emotion that I feel towards a certain something.

It’s almost too hot to touch at first. And then it definitely is too hot if held for too long, it gets you with a slow searing heat that at first seems comforting and then it’s all too hot all too quickly. But putting it down seems like too great a sacrifice.

Then there is the first sip that you know you shouldn’t take because you can feel that this lifeline that has just been clasped by your hand is scalding. But you do anyway because it seems like the only thing that will get you through the day at this stage. So the tentative sip is made and it burns the tip of your tongue and then your mouth shuts down for a split second and the roof of your mouth feels the sharp burn of the hot liquid and quickly it passes down your throat, slightly cooled but still with a sting to it. That’s the first sip done and already it seems to have calmed your nerves and awoken your senses.

The second sip doesn’t seem to be required as much as the first and the heat emanating from the cup is soothing and comforting and no longer leaving a slightly red, clammy imprint on your hand. It’s tethering you to instead. Giving you something to hold onto as you finally shake off the last of the sleepy residue that was somehow still hanging over you despite you being a fair distance away from waking up and getting out of bed.

When you do take the second sip it’s still slightly too hot but not in the same way the first one was. It tingles your slightly burned tongue and glides its way across the roof of your mouth and soothing the throat in a way that mirrors the feeling in your hand. It’s easy to get into a rhythm after that, the liquid no longer like molten lava but rather the exact thing that you needed. Craved.

The level lowers quickly as the drags get longer and the effects become apparent. Maybe that part is psychological but you can feel things getting sharper and the fog clearing up a bit. The action starts to require more movement as you reach the dregs of the cup and there is a slight sadness at the knowledge that this will almost be over.

It is never long enough. Not the first one. There is a desperation attached to this one. It adds to the importance of it all.

The final drops that drip down the cup and your mouth and signifies the end of something. But the beginning of your day. Started right.

sign off 2


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One thought on “Not quite an essay…

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