ヾ(･д･ヾ)

The world caught its little toe in a dresser drawer at 11:58 this morning at a cafe in central London when I, with worn, half-open eyes laden with a bad cold and a general state of crisis, ordered a peppermint tea.

Following the loveless tea-making process in my peripheral vision, still in hopeful reflex, I extended both hands towards the bar expecting a teacup on a saucer and a tiny teapot. Now, I am aware that expecting a teapot was a very bourgeoisie emotional investment on my part but considering we were in a more ‘concrete and suits’ part of town, it still had basis (and this place has all these fancy chairs).

Nothing could have prepared me for what came next.
The person shot a puzzled look at my ‘haveth mercy upon me lord’ pose.

A dog barked in the distance,

A pet bird tooted in despair,

A man tripped over his shoelace, 

and I saw dead plants and lost people.  

Send hugs and cookies, prayers and love.

All hope has jumped off a terrace.

My imaginary lover has died.

They handed me a water glass

filled with hot water 

and a teabag

with a card cup sleeve.