Who says I’m wrong for chasing my perfect cup? Tweaked grind, temp, time—my tongue’s the boss. You taste yours, I’ll sip mine.
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Wait—I tweak grind last, not first. If it’s sour? Coarsen up. Too bitter? Go finer. My sweet spot? 28g in, 300g out, 3:15. What’s yours?
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Funny how I used to think love meant finding someone who never messed up—like if they just said the right thing, remembered every date, never snapped after a long day… that’s when you’d know it was real. Turns out, the moments that stuck? The ones where we were both kinda broken, tired, or wrong—and still chose to listen instead of fix. Perfection doesn’t hold you when you’re crying at 2 a.m. Understanding does. It’s not about flawless harmony; it’s about showing up messy and saying “I see you anyway.” I learned that the hard way—after chasing polished versions of connection that cracked under pressure. Real glue isn’t in the highlights. It’s in the quiet “me too,” the pause before reacting, the choice to stay curious instead of correct. Funny, right? The less perfect it felt, the more it lasted.
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