[ she doesn't actually know if she drinks tea. she can't remember the last time she's had it, if she's had it at all. if that cup of warm liquid she'd down from someone's leftover meal at that one diner was tea or coffee or mud โ at the time she had only had seconds to take in what she could before being noticed, not nearly enough time to savor it.
today, though, her steps are slow. the squeak of her well-worn sneakers are quiet crossing the hall, and when she takes a seat along one of the barstools by the counter, she remembers she can draw both feet up to perch on the metal rod. that she doesn't have to have one planted firmly on the ground, ready to take propel her far away if she needed to.
it takes a little more effort to loosen the tension in her shoulders; the warmth from the cup to her palms helps. ]
Smells good.
[ she'd meant it when she said she wasn't very good at conversations anymore. but somehow silence feels rude, in this moment. ]
no subject
today, though, her steps are slow. the squeak of her well-worn sneakers are quiet crossing the hall, and when she takes a seat along one of the barstools by the counter, she remembers she can draw both feet up to perch on the metal rod. that she doesn't have to have one planted firmly on the ground, ready to take propel her far away if she needed to.
it takes a little more effort to loosen the tension in her shoulders; the warmth from the cup to her palms helps. ]
Smells good.
[ she'd meant it when she said she wasn't very good at conversations anymore. but somehow silence feels rude, in this moment. ]