"If it's not made of tea leaves, it's not actually tea,"

you said to me,

forever ago now,

as I held a mug of herbal (tea) in my hands.

I rolled my eyes at the time,

complaining about semantics,

and drank my berry-flavoured hot liquid anyway.

Now you're not here

Mini-lectures about tea, language, and science,

gone from my day-to-day.

Since you left

I drink only proper tea.

Black tea; a little milk, a little sugar.

As if swallowing sips of hot tea could somehow

bring your warmth back to me.

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