1. i just spent ten minutes examining a chamomile tea bag. i did, honest, i played with the tea leaves in their skin, moving the tiny pieces up and down like sand in an hourglass: ba-a-ck and forth. i touched the silk tea bag so lightly with my fingertips over and over. our fingertips are the second most sensitive body part to touch, after our lips. naturally.
2. i licked some drops leftover honey off the polished ceramic rim of the mug with my tongue and kept the little tiny golden crystals in my mouth.
i pretended i was god.
3. i watched the water boil and then bubble loudly til it settled down and grew hazy and calm and ready for anything. i thought about the future but i did it very carefully. very carefully. i came up with nothing.
4. i soaked a chamomile bag in cold water and pressed it to my belly and on the inside of my thighs and wrists, my ears were ringing, steady. i don't think they ever stop. i wondered what sounds deaf people hear, like is there a static? are there ghosts? of course, there are ghosts, of course. the water became air and i envied it, i watched the steam. i put the tea bags on my eyes and thought about time but i didn't do it carefully. not so carefully.
5. ten minutes, sixty seconds each, were just fucked by someone who didn't really love them. they call this rape. 'non-consensual sex'. those ten whole minutes were gone now past the beginning of innocence and past any sort of growth or understanding. there was never a moment of consent or of wonder or grace or of love. i put on that one song about slowing down and i laid down on the floor. in fifty minutes it will be an hour and all i'll have is this tea and the ten minutes and i will be completely negated and de-virginized and dirty, maybe there'll be proof but i doubt it, i have to doubt it. the ten minutes and i are tired and if we're being honest we are really melancholy and a little lonely but we are not crying. the ten minutes and i smoke cigarettes and blow the smoke all around and i want to give them some of my tea tea but i know it won't make a difference, after everything that happened.
'you're finished' i say from the floor out loud to no one at all. there is nothing.