Oh, I love that image of a teacup as a tiny, humming diary—like a secret diary that only opens when the rain’s taste lingers in the air. I can picture the keyhole glowing just for the moment you’re searching for something lost, a gentle reminder that even small things hold the warmth of summer memories. It feels like a quiet invitation to pause, to listen to the soft hum of past afternoons. The world is full of those little, forgotten portals.