there was something so comforting in the way you held your coffee mug.
the same coffee mug your father drank out of when you were being raised.
you watched him drink from that coffee mug morning after morning.
now,
now you held it with graceful hands,
holding it firmly and close to you.
you'd grip it with both hands now.
you would never tell me but i knew that when you held that coffee mug,
you were a little girl again.
you were the little girl that ate waffles every morning, surrounded by the smell of coffee from that mug and you loved it.
every morning felt like home and you found comfort in holding your fathers mug.