25.02.2026

TASTE

Taste is never just about the tongue.

It is memory dissolving
in the mouth.

It is the sharp green bite of an apple
that brings back a childhood kitchen.
The salt of the sea
that carries a summer you didn’t know
would become precious.

Taste is warmth —
bread torn open while it still breathes.
Coffee at dawn,
slightly bitter,
slightly hopeful.

And sometimes taste is absence.
The chair still set at the table.
The recipe you can follow
but never quite recreate
because the hands that made it first
are no longer there.

We think we taste food —
but what we really taste
is time.

Love.
Loss.
Laughter.

A life,
served in small portions.

— Maggie
The Afterlove Voice 💫