Smiling she looked at the coffee mug which was kept on the table with a smiley imprinted over its dark brown ceramic background. What was so important about that coffee mug, you ask? Well, nothing really. It was a gift from a stranger – another reason it should have not been important. But that same mug was the acquaintance of her loneliness.
Every night, as she opened the book to read and her eyes would droop down with sleep, it was the coffee mug’s cold yet vaporizing texture which touched her lips and evaded her sleep.
The coffee mug was something, in which not only coffee was not poured; from hot water, to extra tea, even the milk that was to be kept, as well as lemonade and juice. Weird, right? It was supposed to be a coffee mug and yet was doing so many things altogether.
The mug had, unfortunately even tasted her tears. That night when her dreams shattered, holding it close to her evading body warmth, with the coffee’s vapour rising up to her nose – she had cried. She had spilled the warm caffeine beverage on her diary and then had not even cared.
That mug had been carried by her almost everywhere she went. It had seen the mountains, and the sea. That was how close it had become to her. No matter how faded it became by being washed every day, it stayed. Being attached to a mundane thing – was that even something to be proud of? Especially when it didn’t have much of a story for attachment?
She didn’t know, nor did she care.
Who knew the end of the coffee mug would also be the end of that typical smiley as well? The final taste of fine liquid that the coffee mug had was not of her bitter sweet coffee, not her sweetened lemonade – it was her blood.