nonsensical ramblings of a happy child, part two of unknown.
Slim fingers wrapped around the neck of the canning jar, the bland yet strangely calming scent of the peppermint tea rising up and out of the mouth of the container. Sometimes Hara was a bit pretentious, using unconventional objects as cups and mugs- mason jars (even if those were becoming rapidly popular with interior designers and & hipsters) and tapered canning jars (which she was using right now, the tea filter lingering near the surface of the hot liquid) — as long as it was capable of holding a fair amount of scalding fluid (while still being ‘normal’ enough — she wouldn’t use a fucking tub to drink her tea, would she?), Hara would eventually scope it out of its place in the house and transform it into a vessel for her beverages. She glanced down at the tea now, fingers plucking gently at the tab as if it would aide the tea in steeping any faster (it wouldn’t.)
Tea was the perfect companion for these kind of rain days; both the beverage and the weather was not too heavy, clear and slightly watered down (hah), and brought around a set of memories of high school days, trainee days, days when she’d skip out of her schedules completely to sit at the door to the roof, a mug of tea clutched loosely in between small hands, fingers occasionally dropping down to massage gently at her bare feet. Tea brought back the memories of quaint little coffee shops, the tiny, ceramic cups offered to her with a teapot of hot water on the side, the sunlight filtering in and through the steam rising from the steeped beverage; memories of the times sitting in her mother’s small flower shop, their knees almost touching and the scent of the chrysanthsemum filling the tiny space instead of the words that could’ve been said, should’ve been said; the memories of the nights she could not sleep, her legs tucked underneath her and the mug of peppermint tea - like she was doing right now - occupying the space between her hands, head tilted back on the leather back of the couch, inhaling deeply as if drawing the particles through her nostrils would aide her in falling back into the state of slumber she so desperately needed.
Casting her gaze out the window, Hara pursed her lips slightly, leaning back in her chair as she tapped her fingers absentmindedly against the distorted glass of the canning jar, her fingernails leaving quiet ‘clink-clink’ sounds every time she did so. Tea and rain were a great combination, ah — great if you wanted to reminisce about the past and things you no longer had the power to change.
