Teacup

The teacup still rests in the cupboard, untouched. Gathering dust from the past seven months and thirteen days. Your silhouette walks towards the coffee maker as the black beans grind in the machine and produce the liquid that made you “awake”. Your lips will kiss the cup and You proceed to gain enough strength to tell me that you no longer have feelings for me. I will stare outside the window, as I did that day in August, and recall a young girl falling off her bicycle. I had the sudden urge, then, to flip the table, smack the cup out of your hand, and have your lips touch mine one last time in hope that you would realize that you were wrong. Instead, I walked past you to look closer at the girl. My instinct told me to run outside and tell her to stay down. That nothing in this life gets better; That no matter how hard you love someone, it is useless. No matter how many times you fall it hurts twice as much to get up and try again. But I didn’t. I turned back to you. Your eyes unable to meet mine. “Go”, I whispered. My attention went back to the girl. As she got up to try again - the sunlight shone on her hair like white christmas lights in January, faded but shining. Her heart will become a broken china plate that the hungry will use and never clean. She will wish that life is as easy as getting back on a bicycle. But it’s not & when I turned back everything you owned was gone, except the teacup you stole at the coffee shop where we first met. The teacup still rests in the cupboard, untouched.