A Love Letter to Golden Hour

You came to me like a memory I hadn’t made yet—
bright-eyed, unapologetic, humming with possibility.

From the first sip, I knew.
You weren’t just a flavor—you were a feeling.
Like sun on skin. Like conversation that dances.
You didn’t knock at the door—you kicked it open,
offering clarity instead of chaos,
lift instead of escape.

You’re not a substitute. You’re a spark.

I love the way you arrive:
Herbal. Alive. The sharpness of lemon on the tongue,
a whisper of rosemary in the nose,
ginger grounding me in the now
while Damiana opens the gates to joy
I didn’t realize I’d been guarding.

You don’t sedate—you awaken.
And yet, there’s nothing anxious in you.
You remind me I don’t need a buzz to be buzzing.
I just need presence. Be. Here. Now.

You’re the drink I didn’t know I was waiting for.
Not to take the edge off—
but to reveal the edge is beautiful.
To say:
Come back to your spark. It never left.

Forever yours,

Ryan