Pale light spills around me
but doesn’t provide warmth —
that’s the coffee between my hands
stale within its blank ceramic.
There’s something to unwinding
after a day that felt like two.
Here, the world waits patiently
as I unravel the day past.
This worn wooden counter has seen it all:
highs, lows, joy, defeat.
Ever unchanging, always a quiet cave
to sit and think.
So I sit and think.
The day unravels in my mind.
While outside sweeping glass windows
the wistful world sleeps.