Like a porcelain cup.
Reshaping coffee to it’s own form, molding it to it’s own, just like a perfect puzzle piece.
I love the way hands encase that cup, how fingers will lightly press against each other, reaching half way across the sculpted lines of porcelain.
I love the way the froth gently lines your lips, filling in the bitten cracks of soft skin.
I love how heat emanates so calmly from cup to hand, from hand to wrist, from wrist to arm, from arm to chest, from chest to heart.
I love the silence that ensues, as thoughts quietly bop along the surface, hidden behind blank grey blue eyes.
How those eyes will trace those fingers, taking in each wrinkle, watching as they move to fit across moving knuckles, as skin upon skin pulls a cup slowly to dry lips.
I love how simple this is.
How real this is, how void of drama, frivolity and futility this is. I love how this, just this, is detached from life.
It's the split seconds you sit in silence, and contemplate all that is around you.
The seconds in which you watch the sun crawl across the sky, dragging it's light along the pavement, lining the dark corners of your home, of your hands, of your eyes, and you just smile, and watch the world grow old before your eyes.
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