She holds the cup with trembling hands,
The tea is warm, but not enough.
It soothes her lips, not all her scars—
Some wounds run silent, deep, and rough.
She sips, pretending she’s okay,
But shadows gather in her eyes.
The steam can’t melt the weight she bears,
Nor hush the echo of goodbyes.
The tea is warm, but not enough.
It soothes her lips, not all her scars—
Some wounds run silent, deep, and rough.
She sips, pretending she’s okay,
But shadows gather in her eyes.
The steam can’t melt the weight she bears,
Nor hush the echo of goodbyes.