Green tea matcha, the thick swirl of coconut speckled with green tea. Shaking it as my hand clenches the slippery, warming shake. Lime green spreading across my lips, moistening them. Crisp, yet somehow processed freshness. Knowing the flavor is familiar, reminds me of easy dates, charged study routines, and people bustling around me. Makes you pause as heaviness creeps up the straw, slowly, begging for mixture. It calls extra attention, the bits, straggling at the bottom, melting yet still firm and moist. Swirling the slurpy ice pieces around my mouth, pressing the matcha chunks against the side of my mouth. Crunchy chunks, enjoying the process of consuming the drink. Lasting taste, a little too thick, too hard. Mouth salivating, working hard to produce the extra liquids for a smooth dissent down the throat. The sweetness so full and rich, overpowering the bitterness that sometimes accompanies green teas. Lime green bubbles rising to the plastic lid. The person attending me, a familiar face with many hints of class separation- opportunity gap. Returning for the quenching spiced cooling drink, knowing I can afford to return. Knowing that those is a treat, it is not unexpected or irregular. Appreciating these small, yet pricey commodities, wishing they meant less. Wishing I was less dependent on these shakes. Hoping someone else will come with me next time, feeding this simple addiction? Addiction to pattern, to simple pleasures. Comfort in a routine, a knowing of something I like, desire, when so much seems unreachable still. Opening the lid and sucking on the ice, eager to not leave behind any hints of green tea, of coconut. The coldness biting my tongue, sometimes forcing my mouth to juggle- the ice doing somersaults. Dreaming the flavors will remain longer, stay, bury and make a home. A home, this sweet pleasure a measure of escape. An oral departure, allowing my anxieties to rest.
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