Definition: Spent tea leaves – those leaves (or hypothetical leaves) used and without flavor.

I’ve had many flavorful cups of tea in my lifetime. Some so full of flavor I could savor them till the last drop. I have equally had teas that merely lacked depth or flavor of any kind regardless of how long it was steeped.

More often than not, those lacking are the same ones that leave a bitter or just dissatisfied disappointment behind to only become those irritatingly stuck leaves that must be scrubbed from the fragile porcelain of my tea cup. Then again, they have equally been known to leave a pesky stain that not even the greatest of solvents can devour.

Such a pity, that is. And then, disappointment reoccurs all over again. The truth is, most of the time I have been blessed by finely tuned senses that allow me to discern when a particular brew won’t be as splendid as it sounds, but then again there is always that one that slips by and surprises me with nothing more than bland palate.

I can’t say I expect anyone other to have the same feelings about that one vile tea in question or be any less loyal to whatever ingredients have been forged together that’s “supposed” to be amazingly brilliant. However, being true to myself and incapable of faking it even for the Queen herself, I must admit it’s shit.

Let me clarify further, I may not fully understand all the ins and outs in tea mixology, but, I ‘am capable of understanding the basics. With that being said, it really doesn’t matter how strong the base leaf is, if it’s mingled with lesser quality leaves, spices and or flowers, it’s still going to be shit. In fact, those lesser quality leaves have the unique ability to completely taint and destroy the stronger leaf used as the base note.

Further more, the conclusion is starkly clear and my analogy is such, It only takes but a tiny drop of mud to obliterate, destroy and utterly ruin untouched, fresh water.

Now, if we break this down further we must take a look at the maker of thus said shit tea. It might be understandable if perhaps the maker were a random stranger by which you, yourself know nothing about, however if you should be so fortunate to actually know this particular maker of shit, then I’d say it changes everything. Don’t you?

First, and that is going on that we “know” the maker, is to examine their intentions as well as their interests. Meaning, what is it that lies just beneath the very surface of thus said person. I must beg to ask, what emotions are they hiding in the deepest facets of their mind and are they aware they have whole heartedly mislead the drinker, which of course in this scenario, myself.

I’d imagine, and that’s if I choose to guess, this person isn’t fully aware of their ill fortune. Which, I can only presume has to do with some kind of emotional attachment to the leaves in question. It is, with out doubt that those with attachments shall indeed defend those poor quality ingredients. However, before you begin to think poorly of the mixologist, you must understand they aren’t necessarily defending the blandness of its taste nor the lack of depth and flavor but more so the mixologists choices for choosing such shit to begin with.

For the most difficult part of this discussion, we may devilishly dig into the actual reasoning behind the mixologists desire to continue steeping such garbage. Well, that one is really quite simple my friends. Guilt. Pure, and not to be confused as lacking in any way, guilt.

Surprised? I know, it’s a challenge to think that something of such a lower vibration could affect someone so ruthlessly, but, as we all know, it’s quite common. Guilt, is the hidden seed hiding among the leaves as nothing more than loyalty, but it’s still guilt no matter how many times this brew is steeped and served. It will remain as it is, unfulfilling, bland and with rapid tendency to grow rather cold, most quickly.

The mixologist isn’t unaware either, that’s what makes it so divinely complicated because they do know all of the above. The thing is, they are willing to die on that hill than to accept, openly, they have created and sold a truly crappy cup of tea. And, to go a bit further with that, they have chosen to instead toss such blastedly grotesque and unpalatable concoction by holding tighter to it still.

I must add, and although, perhaps I should not, I will go on to say, the biggest mistake made by the mixologist and to plainly put it, unfathomable to allow such a tea without any true substance to permanently stain the finest bone China in the cupboard.

If I keep to the complicated and narrow path about the mixologist in question here, then quite simply, there isn’t much more to be said. But, as you would know the ways of “this” particular witch, then surely you already understand the story doesn’t end with the mixologist. No no, that would be most boring wouldn’t it?

Indeed, it would.

Try as it might, can you imagine the betrayal of the quest sipping this wretched tea? I can. It’s not pleasant. In fact, it’s most unpleasurable. It does not matter if the mixologist has upsold his/her mixings nor does it matter what the mixologist actually thinks about the brew itself on a whole. What matters most, and is of utmost importance here, in this moment, is the sheer ability for the sipper to see with their (my) own eyes the nasty stain beginning to form around the rim of their (my) favorite, and least to add, finest tea cup. If that weren’t enough then surely my smile has begun to fade when upon smelling this particular mix of spices and leaves I detect something sour. I have to admit, I expected so much more when the tea finally touched my lips. I had already imagined the idea of it swirling across my tongue and how the chords would perhaps be sour followed by notes of sweet spice but to my own shock and amazement, I tasted nothing more than the weakest hints of spent tea leaves, used and reused to the point of being useless. There is not and shall never be enough cream nor the brownest sugar or the sweetest honey that could hide that factor alone.

If that were a nightmare in the sense of taste then surely one might understand the horror when I, in fact, managed to swallow down this weakened shit without regurgitatimg on to the fine Persian rug at my feet, saw what that wretched tea had done to my beautiful little tea cup.

No longer that creamy shade of porcelain, but now stained with an ugly greenish brack stain was a hideous crack down the side, all the way to the stem. Try as I might, I carefully attempted to clean the delicate pores of the cup, now forever stained in hopes of repairing the crack when something more egregious and sinister happened in the blink of an eye, the cup merely vanished before my very eyes.

Unbelieving, I searched the pool of soapy water, first calmly, and then frantically for my precious cup. You see, it was more than special to me and not just something in which I might sample teas with or relish in its fine craftsmanship inside a protected hutch. This cup, this very special and priceless cup had been gifted by my the only love I have ever had. It was beyond precious, it held value that was irreplaceable and although I am aware an object should not hold such merit, it nevertheless was a pearl of great price, to me.

Hands empty and bare, In that moment, I realized that very bland and useless tea of no value had just consumed something quite valuable and even with that swimming in it’s bland belly, I doubt it was full. Rage, anger and unfathomable, inhuman thoughts raced in my head in a dizzying blur. Clarity regained control and then what came, and not to my surprise but the most foul curses for such a heinous act. I wanted revenge and nothing more, still do. But, if you are wondering, how might one take revenge upon the great nothingness?

It’s an enigma, you see?

That leaves me, really, with only one further look down this morbid rabbit hole and that is to the mixer himself. At first, upon viewing more closely, I thought my feelings were mirrored back. That, is of course the travesty in this situation of rotten tea and vaporized cups when I realized what I had failed to see all along.

What is tangible, and real, is not always valued as priceless. Sometimes, the priceless entity is merely the idea of something being tangible, although, simply is not. It’s that very idea, that one can value so highly, so important and precious that they have mistakenly put all their loyalty into, hoping it will return one day as something whole. But, an idea is just that, an idea. Even more disheartening is watching that person set aside what they held whole to put a protective value on an empty dream.

My beloved has si ce replaced my precious tea cup and I do love it very much, but it will never be the first. That, which, was taken from me. It matters not that the mixer tries desperately, and fails miserably to hide his secrets from me. It only matters that it still hurts my heart over and over just as it was the day I first sampled his brew and tried very much to love it, although I could not, to only have that which I loved taken from me simply because, I was the one, holding out my cup.

The moral of this story is at best, a cup with a hole in the bottom, will never be filled and a spent tea will never regain its flavor.

Thank you for reading ♥️