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© Grathy
My favorite coffee cup broke the other day. He’s lived in my cupboard for so many years, providing me with some morning company and a way to start my day.
Sure, other cups were waiting for me, but they were secondary. This one was special. We had an unspoken bond. Every morning, I would grab his arm, and place him on the counter, giving him my hot coffee to hold.
Over the years he began to age. He sustained a few chips along the way, but he still worked hard. And even though he was sadly tarnished on the inside, he still managed to get the job done without complaint.
A few months ago, I noticed he had a hairline crack. In my mind, I thought this was par for the course for any cup that was as old as he was. But I believed he could take it.
Then one morning, things changed.
I didn't drop him. He didn't crack in the sink. He just took a bath in the dishwasher, like he had always done for decades.
As I unloaded the dishes, I saw him, broken into tiny pieces. His shards were small and sharp. He was unrecognizable and beyond repair.
Was he tired and couldn’t tell me? Perhaps he was weary from holding my coffee day after day. Maybe his body was weaker than I thought and it was just a matter of time before he couldn’t take it anymore.
And now he is gone.
I stare blankly at the remaining cups, knowing that they are eager to take his place. But one is too heavy. Another one is too thin and doesn’t hold the temperature of the coffee very well. The rest of them are just there keeping each other company.
Gingerly I remove one of them from the cupboard and stare at it on the counter. It smiles weakly at me, hoping he can live up to my expectations.
I pour a hot cup of coffee and I try to begin again.
Copyright 9/23/23-Medium.com A
