Some mornings I wake up,
go downstairs,
And find mom and dad talking.
Calmly.
Quietly.
The sun would be brighter,
I could hear the birds chirping,
And everything was beautiful.
Those mornings,
I’d grab my black mug
And turn on the coffee machine.
After brewing,
I’d pour the mixture
And wait.
I stare at the black mug
And listen to my parents talk,
Memorizing the sounds around me.
Memorizing the change in the brightness of the world.
Memorizing everything at that moment.
Waiting,
The color begins to change;
Voices grow louder.
This time it only reached half;
Half of it began to show an underlying image
As the heat set in.
Half of the cup changed
Before they started.
Ⓒ Charlize Andrews
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