Mug’s Tale’s Specials – Text #1

Mug’s Tale

by B.

 

I was offered as a gift

I was taken out of my package

Opened up in a large room

With a view on the sea,

The first apartment of my mistress.

I got walked to the window sill

And sat there for a while

Then got taken out, Just out the door,

Or in the frame.

 

There, in this charming atmosphere

Absent-minded reveries,

Thoughtful gestures,

Preoccupied looks,

All called for my use, and

Warmed me up, time and again,

There and then.

 

There, I touched hands, lips,

Warmed up faces tenderly

Got cupped up and kissed repeatedly.

How lovely was my existence then…

I wish I could talk to express

Just how much love I witnessed.

 

The warm liquid I received and offered

Had the power to lift up spirits,

Or ease them rapidly,

One sip after another,

Repeatedly.

 

At first I was my mistress’ favorite.

She seized me everyday.

My existence and hers seemed to be linked in a way.

She could not keep her hands off me, yet again her lips,

Even just for a day.

Whenever she reached out for me,

She would hold me dearly.

 

I wasn’t sure whether her emotions came from holding me,

Or from drinking the liquid life inside of me.

Maybe it was a little bit of both.

They started in the habit of my warm comforting feel,

And got enhanced by the potions of happiness,

She poured herself in my caring heart-warming self.

 

I got washed and cleaned up so many times,

my beautiful designs

Started to fade. She was using me out of habit now.

I could feel the comfort didn’t start with me anymore.

It was all brought by my liquid partner inside.

 

A man started to visit my mistress’ place.

He used me once or twice,

Then brought in a new set.

She would use those when he was there.

 

She continued to hold on to me, when he wasn’t around.

Out of habit, out of attachment,

I couldn’t tell.

 

Until one day, they moved out.

Three more sets were bought,

And I was placed at the back of the closet.

I was rarely ever touched –

Once to be relocated,

Another to be moved out of the way

To reach something that was sitting just behind me.

 

If I could feel I would probably say I grew cold and lonely,

Gathering dust at the back of the shelf.

I’d learnt to look forward to the split instants,

When a ray of sun would brush my varnished clay,

When the wooden gates that jailed me were flung open,

Even if it was just a fleeting moment.

 

These days, the soft brush of skin was not even rare delight

Anymore. It was a memory of a time passed,

Long gone. I knew the day would come,

When the cell I was held in

Would get too small for its contents,

And the eldest occupants would get thrown out

To free that space.

 

Today was my last day as a recipient.

Today I got broken into ten thousand pieces.

Large bits, smaller ones, tiny specks, dust,

I landed all over the room then hoped on shoes soles, thus

Specks of me would get to see the wider world.

Soon my consciousness would reach new borders.

I thought my life would be over,

The second I would leave this place,

And loose this shape,

But it isn’t.

Life has just started a new cycle,

And is now merely expanding horizons.


Thank you for reading!

If you want to read Mug’s Tale’s other Specials, click here.

———————

Merci d’avoir lu ce texte!

Si vous voulez lire d’autres spécialités Mug’s Tale, cliquez ici.


 

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