at the end of the day, i stared at the teabag
that i scooped out from the ***.
wet and sloshy, its scent faded and sweetened;
it wasn't itself anymore.

without its lingering bitterness
without its verdant hues,
or its unique aromas that they fancied,
it could never be who it was.  

the used teabag, now that its purpose was served,
is no longer wanted.
was it fulfilled by the amount of tea it gives,
or was it emptied?