Over my morning coffee I think of me and you.
As I stir the milk and sugar, I hope that you do too.
The crumbs left from my pastry, tell the tail of us.
In tiny bits, not strong enough and scattered in the dust.
And the stain around the cup, is all that there remains.
Like the feelings now inside of me of memories and pain.
I wish I’d stuck to water, never tempted to caffeine.
Then I wouldn’t feel like this and life would be a dream.
I wonder about another cup, but not in connection to us.
I think it might help a fraction while I try to readjust.
lizalizaskysaregrey 