The Rain On Monday

Written words are the only thing my mind can find ease in.

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31. Emotions

The small train of steam rose serenely from my cup of black coffee.

I watched carefully as the steam slowly curved inward and outward, around and down, zigzag and horizontal, until it vanished into the coldness of the morning.

I thought that emotions were very much so like that steam – especially in the way that they fluctuate rapidly, and then slowly evaporate like they ever existed at all.

Perhaps even when you clutch your mug tightly, directly after pouring the scorching hot liquid, you’ll set it down in a jumble, hoping you hadn’t been scathed, and look at the redness of your palm.

Emotions are the exact same in a way – the way that you know clutching that mug full of hot liquid could scathe you, as provoking someone important to you just so you could see them fluster, unprepared by their brutal remarks.

Or when you look at the redness of the skin on your palm, thinking of how it resembles when you look back and wish that you could take back those umpteenth seconds and save yourself from the burning sensation taking over your body.

I do think very much that coffee’s steam and people’s emotions are utterly the same.

Coffee tastes much better when you aren’t burning your tongue from the hotness, and people’s emotions are handled better when they aren’t tampered with greedily.

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