Tiny Tea Tales: What could have bean

"I couldn't look at coffee any more"

Our mornings came to be marked by coffee - always black, mostly in bed, and between the sheets. And as we spent more time together, more kinds of coffee made their way into my kitchen cabinet - dark roast, micro lot, small batch, high grown, and whatnot - with packet after packet spilling freely into every vacant corner. Boundaries clearly broken and desires quickly transformed. A drinker of tea for years, as staunchly as one can be, I came into coffee through him, for most parts, and then fell for it deeply, curiously. Revelling as much in its taste as our mornings, as him.

The day we broke up, I found myself staring at my coffee-filled cabinets with a heavy heart and a strange, looming wonderment - what am I supposed to do with all of you now?

Tainted, nothing about these coffees was good anymore. Everything about these coffees left my heart flooded and frail. But a heart that's tired needs nourishing still.

Stepping in, tea is making space for my grief and healing.