In Harmony Like Tea and Water
Love, too, is steeping.
No matter how we rise and fall,
we always settle at each other’s depths.
The bitterest tear of one becomes the sweetest sip of the other.
“Steeping” — what a magical word.
Tea by itself is only a leaf; water, only a clear pool.
But when warmth enters between them,
when both surrender and open,
a transformation begins.
The first infusion is meeting —
shy, uncertain, a little green.
Water flows forward without restraint;
tea waits, hopeful, trembling.
The flavor is raw, but sincere.
The second infusion is passion —
tea and water swirling, burning, fusing.
They test each other, soften each other,
and at last, a hint of sweetness arises from the struggle.
The third infusion is understanding —
after trials, calm returns.
The taste deepens, the scent lingers.
Together they have learned how to be —
not merely to love, but to live as one.
And the fourth infusion is companionship —
the fragrance fades to quiet grace.
The tea no longer needs to prove its strength;
the water no longer needs to boil.
Two hearts rest in gentle stillness,
sharing time the way old friends share silence.
In the twilight of love,
when everything fierce has softened into tenderness,
you may sit side by side,
and realize that what was once bitter
has long become the sweetest tea.
In all our bonds — family, friendship, love —
let us be like tea and water:
each completing, enriching, and awakening the other,
until both become one gentle, fragrant whole.