Coffee Stains and Yesterday's News
Story Content
The chipped mug warms my hands,
coffee stains a map of forgotten dreams
on the kitchen counter.
Yesterday's news still sits crumpled,
unread, a testament to apathy or exhaustion,
I can't decide which.
The silence is a thick blanket,
heavy, suffocating.
The birds outside chirp oblivious,
to the storm brewing inside me.
Remember that day at the beach?
The way the sun kissed your skin,
and the laughter bubbled up like champagne?
We built sandcastles that the tide devoured,
but the memory remains, stubbornly persistent,
a ghost of happiness haunting my present.
I trace the rim of the mug,
feeling the rough edges,
just like the edges of my heart,
worn and frayed from years of unspoken words,
and half-hearted apologies.
He said, "I love you," but did he mean it?
Or was it just a reflex,
a phrase learned by rote,
stripped of all meaning?
I never asked.
Fear, a cold hand gripping my throat,
prevented the question from escaping.
Now, the silence screams louder,
filled with the echoes of what could have been,
what should have been.
The coffee is cold now, bitter.
I pour it down the drain,
a symbolic act of letting go,
that feels hollow and meaningless.
I check my phone, again.
No messages.
No calls.
Just the same empty screen,
a mirror reflecting my own loneliness.
Maybe I'll walk to the park,
watch the kids play,
laughing, carefree,
remind myself that joy still exists,
even if it feels a million miles away.
Or maybe I'll just stay here,
wrapped in the silence,
letting the weight of yesterday
crush me.
It's easier, sometimes,
to surrender to the sadness,
than to fight it.
The sun is rising now,
casting long shadows across the room.
A new day begins,
but it feels like a continuation
of the same old story.
I wish I could rewrite the ending,
erase the mistakes,
but all I can do is keep moving forward,
one step at a time,
carrying the baggage of the past,
and hoping, maybe, just maybe,
that someday, the silence will fade,
and be replaced by something…warmer.
Something real.
Something lasting.
coffee stains a map of forgotten dreams
on the kitchen counter.
Yesterday's news still sits crumpled,
unread, a testament to apathy or exhaustion,
I can't decide which.
The silence is a thick blanket,
heavy, suffocating.
The birds outside chirp oblivious,
to the storm brewing inside me.
Remember that day at the beach?
The way the sun kissed your skin,
and the laughter bubbled up like champagne?
We built sandcastles that the tide devoured,
but the memory remains, stubbornly persistent,
a ghost of happiness haunting my present.
I trace the rim of the mug,
feeling the rough edges,
just like the edges of my heart,
worn and frayed from years of unspoken words,
and half-hearted apologies.
He said, "I love you," but did he mean it?
Or was it just a reflex,
a phrase learned by rote,
stripped of all meaning?
I never asked.
Fear, a cold hand gripping my throat,
prevented the question from escaping.
Now, the silence screams louder,
filled with the echoes of what could have been,
what should have been.
The coffee is cold now, bitter.
I pour it down the drain,
a symbolic act of letting go,
that feels hollow and meaningless.
I check my phone, again.
No messages.
No calls.
Just the same empty screen,
a mirror reflecting my own loneliness.
Maybe I'll walk to the park,
watch the kids play,
laughing, carefree,
remind myself that joy still exists,
even if it feels a million miles away.
Or maybe I'll just stay here,
wrapped in the silence,
letting the weight of yesterday
crush me.
It's easier, sometimes,
to surrender to the sadness,
than to fight it.
The sun is rising now,
casting long shadows across the room.
A new day begins,
but it feels like a continuation
of the same old story.
I wish I could rewrite the ending,
erase the mistakes,
but all I can do is keep moving forward,
one step at a time,
carrying the baggage of the past,
and hoping, maybe, just maybe,
that someday, the silence will fade,
and be replaced by something…warmer.
Something real.
Something lasting.
About This Story
Genres: Poetry
Description: A reflection on the quiet loneliness of mornings, the weight of unspoken words, and the search for connection in a world that often feels distant.