I have a mug that’s broken twice.
Each time I glue it together.

It’s not worth much, really.

You see though, I wanted this mug to be my mug forever. I haven’t held much forever. Haven’t trusted it’d be there.

When I hold my mug, I think of the warm summer air in Washington when I bought it. I remember feeling like I was friends with my step sisters and I felt like I fit in with my family. I felt invincible and I felt love.

It could’ve been the meds I’d had all week - mom says I’m so nice to be around (but only when I’m high).

Oh my mug, my mug.