Today, I  stumbled upon an imperfection on my water cup –a protruding bulge disrupting the otherwise Smooth. Circular. Perfect rim.

So that I, as I –unaware– brought myself to drink; felt this quirk, the cup’s pouting lip, pressing sternly against my own quivering pair.

I can’t remember the last time I was kissed or someone kissed by me. So the question if I should find solace in a plastic cup is now nailed to my mind.

But I know I’ll break the promise of finding to this question an answer by drinking the water.

Because after all, it’s just that. Water.