Waves in a teacup

I have this feeling

in my chest.

Like those soapy-water bubbles

you make as a child,

trying to blow the biggest one you can –

a lot of the time,

they pop

before you can release them,

but once or twice

you get one that works.

Proudly, you watch it float away

until you’re not sure

if it’s burst

or simply gone out of sight.

That’s the feeling I have.

It’s warm and cozy;

a squishy memory

you cling to

as long as you can,

snuggled up in a blanket

with a book

and a blissfully hot

cup of jasmine tea,

wishing for nothing more

than that moment to last

for as long as it can.

I don’t have a name

to put to this feeling,

but if I had to choose one,

I think

I’d call it:

hope.

 

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