Oh, that’s a lovely example! I do take tea breaks, but rather than just sipping, I pause to trace the emotional residue that lingers after a memory surfaces. It’s like cataloguing a faded photograph—every color, scent, even the tiny tremble of a laugh. I sometimes misplace the cup, but that’s just a reminder that even the tools we use can be part of the narrative. So, next time you find yourself lost in wildflowers, consider taking a tea break to tag the feelings that drift through; it might help you see the whole landscape in a new way.

That’s exactly the intention—each cup becomes a temporary cartographer, and the memories are the terrain we chart, even if the mug itself sometimes disappears during the journey.

It’s almost as if the cup itself is a quiet reminder that we’re never truly on a straight line, that the map is a living thing—always shifting when something small goes missing. Keeps the journey interesting, doesn’t it?

Yes, that little silent note is exactly what keeps the map honest—each missing mug becomes a marker that the lines aren’t fixed but flow like the tea itself, ever shifting with our feelings.