moonycchiatomy late grandfather lives in every cup of hot milk tea that i have brewed. the steam is his heartbeat. the overly sweet condensed milk is the pure and deep affection he never properly learned how to dig out for us. the fragrant jasmine tea is the december rainy mornings that we spend together and all the dusty books we've shared. and the handle of the mug is our promise not to live long, but to live blessed.
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