I embrace you,
your warmth softening my cold, stiff hands.
I draw you in,
inhaling the fragrance of mornings long past.
Bitter. Nostalgic.
You carry whispers of my grandmother,
her delicate ritual—
me drawing,
her sipping.
You were there,
your warmth invigorating her as she faced her own avalanche of untold problems.
Now, like her, I sip.
Still bitter,
yet somehow, I love you.
Thank you for the energy,
for carrying me forward,
for transforming this relentless onslaught of life’s problems
into something I can face
DoodlepunkArt 