it's an average looking mug, nothing special about it. it usually sat in the cupboard, among other mugs, some fancier, some just as plain, some truly hideous. it got used an average amount. it was a good mug, perfectly serviceable. time went on, and pretty much all the other mugs ended up chipped or broken or lost between moves.
this one outlasted the rest, so it became a favourite of mine. it got decorated. it got used a lot more often. it was regarded fondly, and held carefully, and appreciated because it was a really good mug. i really liked that mug. like, a lot.
and then one day somebody picked it up and knocked it absentmindedly off the counter. but again, it was a really good mug. it didn't immediately shatter into pieces. it just got a crack. a big one, sure, noticeable, but if it was taken care of, it would last a really long time.
i know it's probably not a good idea to keep on using something that damaged but the mug was my favourite, and it didn't leak, and it didn't cut me if i sipped carefully, and i didn't want to let go of something that was mostly fine. still, the crack couldn't be ignored. i was always aware of it.
i knew the mug needed to be treated carefully or else it would break. i tried to make sure other people knew that. i don't live alone, you know.
but despite my best efforts, the mug got rattled around, like it could take it. it got neglected, and then used roughly, in intermittent bursts. sometimes by me, if i was having a bad day. sometimes by other people. sometimes it was just such a pain to use. a lot of the time it seemed like so much work to have to handle it so gently. nobody should have to think this hard about a mug, you know?
and i got tired of it, all the careful handling. but i couldn't just toss it. the mug has history. it's hard to let go of something with sentimental value. it's not the mug's fault it's a mess. it's not even my fault.
deciding to push it off the counter though—that was definitely my fault. i knew it couldn't handle another drop like that. i knew this time it would break. i just got tired of wondering when it would happen. it seemed like the best idea would be to speed up the inevitable. then at least i could be done with it.
it's still falling though. i'm wondering if, when it finally lands, it'll chip, or crack, or shatter into tiny little pieces.
sumayyah writes poetry...
...because sometimes she Feels Things™ and then has to scribble those Feelings down so she can get them out of her head and move on with her day.