I'd like an earl grey with some creativity on the side

Words tended to come easily but somehow they are captured just behind her eyes and the only thing that seeps through is tears and occasional profanity. It leaves an aching at the tip of the triangle and a lingering bitterness on the palate. One sided conversations turn into uncomfortable silences where eyes are averted and lower lips bitten; both waiting for the other to answer questions that were never spoken. Only the foolish wait for words that no longer exist so they part with a nod, not realizing they still wait for lips to part and offer more than breath. One step forward and about half a million steps to the left and they’ve still got heat nipping at the heels. Swallowing the fist in her throat she attempts sheepishly to mold the coughs into a semblance of a word. It is mistaken for a yawn and she is reminded that she is dreadfully late for a teleconference with a dial tone.