She was my cup of tea.

The type of girl who smelled like honey and rose hips as she passed by. The mere scent of her can keep you awake for days.

The type of girl you shared an afternoon with, eating biscuits and finger sandwiches. Her delicate fingers lifted each bite with such grace as she carefully folded her napkin.

The type of girl whose laugh was so melodic, it blended with the soft sound of stirring earl gray on rainy Sunday mornings.

The type of girl whose hand fit just right with yours like the handle of your favorite oversized mug. Your fingers curled over hers like puzzle pieces.

The type of girl you couldn’t wait to touch.
Even if she burned you a little bit, the pain reminded you that feelings were still there.

She was the best cup of tea.