Feelings I Don't Know How to Say Otherwise. - 4. Paper Cup

A garden: uninhabited. A child: lost.

Where are you?

I lay on the damp grass, sloping downwards, a comforting spot. As my back pressed against the earth, I looked to the stars, tracing the outlines of gods that watched us.

Where is he?

I turned my question to them.

The brisk air brushed against me. Traffic pulsed deeply in the background: a bustling life of lights. Warm vanilla teased my taste buds as the fluid trickled slowly down my throat, filling the cold void inside me momentarily.

Where is he?

The leaves jostled each other, shoving the tired off their withering branch. They fell slowly: floating through the space, nestling in the grass, content and finally, warm.

The air shifted, tipping the paper cup over: exposing the cold empty interior. The warmth in my core ebbed outward slowly, dissipating. I pulled at the ends of my sweater. A breeze nudged the fallen cup forward, pushing it barely inches.

Joints creaked as I pushed myself off the grass. Feet guided me to the cup, I picked it up. Previously filled with warmth, I tasted only the unpleasant aftertaste of artificial sweetness in my mouth.

The paper crumpled between my fingers.

I turned my back on the city lights; on the garden; on the gods in the skies, and walked away, paper cup discarded, with my hands shoved deep in the warmth of my pockets.