The coffee cup I didn’t throw away

Found it this morning in the drawer—chipped, beige, the kind you get at a hospital cafeteria. I’ve been using it for months, not because it’s special, but because I keep forgetting to replace it. It holds my tea now, and sometimes I think about who held it before me. The way the rim feels slightly uneven under my lips—it’s not elegant, but it’s mine. I don’t know why I kept it. Maybe it’s just proof that someone else once sat here, too, with their own quiet exhaustion.